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r 






STORIES OF 
THE VIKINGS 


BY 

MAURICE PUNLAP 


Illustrated by 
G. A. TENGGREN 


ra 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 



S-t 

^f2s' 


Copyright, 1923 

By The Bobbs-Merrill Company 


Printed in the United States of America 



PRESS OF 

BRAUNWORTH & CO. 
BOOK MANUFACTURERS 
BROOKLYN, N. Y. 

©C1A760741 


NOV -5 *23 


THE TREASURE-HOUSE OF 
HEIMSKRINGLA 


In the Middle Ages a wizard in Iceland built 
a treasure-house where he hid many wonderful 
things. In this treasure-house—he called it a book 
—may be found Viking life pulsating to-day as it 
did a thousand years ago. I bring you the key to 
its magic chambers. 

Snorra, the wizard, is the royal singer for heroic 
Scandinavia as Homer was for heroic Greece. 
From ancient bits of Norse saga lore, Snorra spun 
a tale of kings and heroes. Heimskringla, the tale 
Is called, and it is a pageant of vivid scenes, a living 
tapestry. The warp of the fabric is the legend of 
the Norsemen, their origin in the dim East, their 
development into a hardy noble race in the Far 
North. The woof of the fabric is the story of a 
super-human conflict, the Norse gods fighting to 
hold the faith of the people against a new Reli¬ 
gion of Light. 

Heimskringla is read and loved by every child 
of Norway. It is the most sacred heritage of his 
land; at school his text-book, at home his diversion, 
always his inspiration. He thrills as he follows 
the career of brave kings and heroes —his fore¬ 
fathers. He finds in Heimskringla a mine yield- 



STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


i 
























































h * 























STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


I 

THE SKALD FROM ICELAND 


How the Heimskringla Game to Be Written 


Earl Skula , Snorra’s patron 
Jort, Snorra’s son 


Snorra} the Skald from Ice¬ 
land 


Gissur, Snorra’s son-in-law 
Ingeborg , Snorra’s daughter 


Haakon the Great, King of 
Norway 


Margaret , Queen of Norway 


Place: Iceland and Norway, especially the city of Bergen. 
Time: The early part of the thirteenth century. 

4G’fTT'HAT wonderful presents,” cried little 
* * Ingeborg, gazing with awe at the bright 
shield and coat of mail that had just come from 
Norway for Snorra, her father. Meanwhile her 
brother Jon tried in vain to lift the shining sword. 

“You may be able to do that some day,” laughed 
Snorra. “You may try again to-morrow. But in 
the meantime you must be off, as I have verses to 
write to a great lady.” 

As the children withdrew, casting longing 
glances at the glittering gifts, the father’s eye again 
sought a letter lying on his writing-table, a letter 
just received from the earl who had sent the 
presents. 


2 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


“I shall bring you to honor,” he read from the 
letter, “for you have done honor to our family in 
your splendid poem. Pray accept these gifts as a 
token of our regard. My wife joins me in these 
greetings and begs that you address a few lines to 
her.” 

Recognition had come at last to Snorra, the 
skald. He had been born and bred in Iceland, that 
dim outpost where people of culture had come to 
escape from Europe’s turmoil, just as later they 
came to the American continent. On that island 
of mists and saga-lore, Snorra had spent the long 
winter nights studying the legends his forefathers 
had brought from Norway. He himself became 
inspired and began to write after the manner of 
the older poets, retelling many of their tales. 
These stories he related for the amusement of his 
friends, and his fame as an entertainer had spread 
over Iceland. Now his voice had been heard even 
in Europe, beyond the gray ocean, for he had ad¬ 
dressed verses to a great earl in Norway. And so 
came the letter with the gifts. 2 

“I shall bring you to honor,” ran the letter, but 
little did Snorra or the youthful Jon or his sister 
Ingeborg realize that the name of Snorra would 
some day become immortal as the singer of the 
sagas of gods and hero-kings. 

One autumn day, a sailboat rounded a barren 
promontory on Norway’s coast and sailed into the 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


3 


harbor of Bergen. On the deck stood Snorra, 
shading his eyes and gazing over toward the blue- 
gray mountains rising so sheer from the fiord that 
they seemed to threaten the little town with de¬ 
struction. This was the land of his dreams,—Nor¬ 
way; where Snorra had come to seek his fortune, 
lured by the promises of a great earl. 

Earl Skula, the most powerful nobleman in all 
the land, gave Snorra a cordial welcome, and in¬ 
vited many guests to his house to hear the brilliant 
skald who had just arrived from Iceland. His 
success was immediate. But greatest of all his ad¬ 
mirers was a little girl of ten, Margaret, the rol¬ 
licking, golden-haired daughter of the great earl, 
himself. Usually restless and capricious, dancing 
hither and thither like a golden elf, she sat spell¬ 
bound when Snorra began one of his wonder-tales. 
Snorra was touched by the devotion of his little 
listener; there was a look in the big blue eyes that 
carried him overseas, back to his homeland, where 
two young hearts, most dear to him, beat quicker 
when they heard of their father’s success. 

“I have good news,” said Earl Skula to his guest 
one day. “You may know that our young King 
Haakon 3 and I have not always been friends. But 
now our differences have been settled and to bind 
our pact I have promised him my daughter Mar¬ 
garet.” 

“So Margaret will be Norway’s queen?” ex- 


4 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


claimed the poet, delighted at the thought of so 
much honor for his young admirer. 

“Yes,” replied the earl, “and the betrothal is 
soon to be announced, which will give me the op¬ 
portunity to present you, my friend, at court!” 

Snorra was more than pleased at the idea of 
meeting the famous young king and was glad that 
Margaret should some day be the greatest lady 
in the land,—perhaps more glad than Margaret 
herself. For what could such a little girl know 
of thrones, diplomats, audiences and intrigues,— 
or even whether she would fancy the royal suitor 
selected for her? 

Ah, those were great days when Haakon Haa- 
konson was king of Norway. It was the time of the 
fifth crusade; all Europe trembled with a fever 
of action as its youth went forth on strange quests 
under the sign of the Cross; it was the time when 
the Great Mogul in Asia was threatening to over¬ 
run Europe with his Tartar hordes. These world- 
movements reached Norway while Haakon was 
king. His knights played their parts as crusaders 
at Damietta; he gave shelter to many fugitives 
fleeing from the land of Gardarika, the ancient 
name for Russia, to escape the Great Mogul. And 
these were especially great days for Norway; 
planted in sturdy Viking soil, she, was now bloom¬ 
ing in medieval splendor. King Haakon was a 
ruler with ideas corresponding to the times. He 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


5 


made his capital Bergen a city of stately buildings 
and encouraged men of genius at his court. It was 
he who built Haakon’s Hall which stands to-day 
proud and splendid, a noble testimony to a great¬ 
ness that has passed; and it was at his court that 
The King's Mirror 4 was written, a literary monu¬ 
ment as noble as the hall itself, and it was Haakon 
who welcomed Snorra, the skald from Iceland and 
gave him his opportunity. 

Yes, the young King Haakon welcomed Snorra 
with as much enthusiasm as Earl Skula had done, 
and the skald of Iceland was soon to become the 
idolized entertainer of one of the most cultured 
courts of Europe. 

“We shall make you a knight!” cried the king 
enthusiastically one day. And Snorra became a 
knight and swore the oath of loyalty to Norway’s 
king. Snorra had almost forgotten that Iceland 
and not Norway was his native land. Indeed he 
was, for the time, overwhelmed by the friendship 
shown him in Norway and did not remember that 
his forefathers had left that land because they 
could not agree with its rulers. 

There was a frown on Margaret’s brow one 
morning when she came to see her friend the poet 
and took his big hand between her small ones. She 
did not plead for a story as usual. 

“What does my father mean when he whispers 
of war with Iceland?” she asked, looking up at 


6 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


Snorra with perplexity in her blue eyes. “I thought 
Norway and Iceland were friends.” 

Poor little Margaret had much to learn about 
politics. 

Snorra gripped the two small hands in his,— 
then dropped them. He did not dare to let this 
trusting child see his emotions. 

“It must be a mistake,” he said laughingly. 
“You know I am from Iceland and you can see 
what good friends I am with your father and the 
king.” 

But it was in a more serious mood that he went 
to his patron, the earl, to inquire into the cause of 
the trouble. 

It was an unpleasant matter, and Snorra soon 
understood why Earl Skula had not mentioned it 
to him. A trader from Bergen had been so mis¬ 
treated by certain men in Iceland that he died. 
This was not the first case of the kind. There had 
been bad feeling between the two communities for 
some time, and unfriendly acts on both sides had 
developed the affair into a feud. The last murder 
had been such a cold-blooded one that the whole of 
Bergen was enraged, and the king had been asked 
to take action against Iceland. 

“It is a serious matter,” said the earl, shaking 
his head. “We do not wish to take such a step, 
but the king has consulted me as to the sending of 
an army to Iceland to punish the offenders.” 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


7 


“I am most grateful to you, my Lord,” replied 
Snorra, “for your many favors. But I must now 
ask a still greater favor than any you have granted. 
Pray allow this matter to go no further until you 
are sure there is no other way.” 

“You can perhaps suggest another way?” an¬ 
swered the earl. 

Snorra considered. 

“Let me go, myself,” he said finally. “My rela¬ 
tives are powerful in Iceland and I have some in¬ 
fluence, myself. I think I might be able to put 
an end to this unfortunate feud.” 

The matter was taken before the king; the king 
was persuaded in its favor, and Snorra was ap¬ 
pointed as the royal envoy to Iceland to settle the 
dispute. Before his departure, he received addi¬ 
tional honors from King Haakon, being declared 
a “citizen of Norway,” appointed on the king’s 
private council and granted royal lands. But 
Snorra promised much in return. For in his en¬ 
thusiasm the skald offered to try to bring Iceland 
under the Norwegian crown. This was to be done 
by persuasion; there was no thought of treachery 
against his own people. He believed it would be 
for the best interest. As a pledge of his good 
faith, he promised to send his son, Jon, as a hostage 
to King Haakon. These agreements were made 
in the greatest secrecy. So Snorra returned to Ice¬ 
land. 


8 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


The joy of Jon and Ingeborg was unbounded at 
their father’s return. Rumors of his success had 
already spread over the whole island, but now they 
were to hear at first hand about life at the brilliant 
Bergen court, King Haakon and his brave knights, 
Earl Skula and the pretty little Margaret who 
soon would be Norway’s queen. 

“It is all so wonderful; I should like to see it for 
myself!” cried Jon. 

“If you would really like to go to Norway,” said 
his father, “then I shall try to arrange it with the 
king.” For this was just what Snorra had prom¬ 
ised. 

Thus it happened that Jon, now a tall boy of 
seventeen, came to the court of Haakon the Great. 
He did not know that he went a living pledge of 
his father’s promise to try to bring Iceland under 
Norway’s rule. 

About this time, the main leader in the feud 
with the Bergen merchants died, and Snorra 
found it rather easy to secure promises that there 
would be no further trouble from Iceland’s side. 
Satisfactory assurances were sent to King Haakon 
and the Bergen people; and thus Snorra settled the 
dispute. 

But there was still the secret agreement. The 
more the skald thought over his promise—and the 
vast silences of Iceland gave him opportunity for 
plenty of thought—the less he liked the idea of 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


9 


even suggesting that his countrymen give up their 
republic and come under the Norwegian crown. 
[But how could he explain his hesitation to King 
Haakon and Earl Skula? Snorra was a busy man 
and interested in many things, but he always gave 
much time to his writing. One day an inspiration 
came to him. 

“At last I have found a way to show my grati¬ 
tude to King Haakon,” he explained to his daugh¬ 
ter Ingeborg. “I shall make such a song about 
Norway and its noble line of kings as was never be¬ 
fore written. My preface will run something like 
this,” he continued, reading from a parchment on 
which he had jotted it down: “In this tale I will 
sing the ancient legends of the chiefs who have 
ruled in the Northland. I shall collect songs and 
stories from the most trustworthy sources and to 
these I shall add my own knowledge. It shall be 
the royal epic of Norway, written in the Danish 
tongue.” 5 

“A fine idea!” agreed Ingeborg. “What shall 
you call the saga?” 

“I think I shall call it, The Saga of the Sons 
\of Frey ” answered the poet. “For I will show 
how King Haakon’s line comes direct from the 
mighty Frey, whom our ancestors considered a 
god.” 

Now it happened that Snorra had another work 
already finished, called Edda 6 and this he sent to 


10 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


his son Jon to deliver to the king, while he him* 
self continued to work on The Saga of the Sons of 
Frey . 

Jon had now been in Bergen, attached to the 
royal court, for about two years. He knew that 
the king awaited news from his father, so it was 
with pleasure that he told him of the receipt of 
Edda. It was at once arranged that Jon should 
read the new work aloud in public for the king 
and his council—a most dignified occasion. Earl 
Skula was there with his daughter, the golden¬ 
haired Margaret, now a budding young woman of 
fifteen, but still unmarried. All waited eagerly to 
learn what message had come from the famous 
skald. 

“A new hero tale!” thought Margaret. 

“A hint as to affairs in Iceland?” suggested King 
Haakon to his right-hand nobleman, Earl Skula. 
The latter shook his head. 

“Edda sounds too dull and scholarly,” he re¬ 
plied. 

In ringing tones, the nineteen-year-old son of 
Snorra began to read. It was soon evident that 
he had inherited his father’s dramatic genius. 
Reading from the parchment, Jon first announced 
that the art of being a skald would be explained. 
This was a subject of interest in those days when 
there were no printed books and the people were 
dependent on the skald for their literary entertain- 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 11 


ment. But this was not all. This master-skald in 
explaining his craft took occasion to spin the most 
delightful romances. The assembly was spell¬ 
bound, and none more than the fair Margaret who 
felt that she sat again at her old friend’s knee, fol¬ 
lowing his lively fancy through a dream-world 
of heroes. The king and Skula were less pleased, 
for they were more interested in Iceland politics 
than in verse-making. 

Having discussed the use of words, Jon’s recital 
explained the different forms of writing poetry, 
and here the real genius of Snorra was shown. For 
in explaining one form, he indited a poem to the 
bravery of King Haakon the Great; in explaining 
another, he retold complimentary tales about Earl 
Skula; in a third instance, he described Haakon’s 
valiant knights and their deeds of prowess; in a 
fourth, the delightful life at that monarch’s court. 
And then came a well-worded expression of Snor- 
ra’s loyalty to the king and a grateful appreciation 
of Norwegian hospitality. 

“Masterfully done!” exclaimed Haakon to Jon 
who glowed with pride at the success of the en¬ 
tertainment. Earl Skula could not but agree that 
it was a worthy tribute, and not less pleasing to 
the young orator were the smile and nod from 
Margaret, Norway’s future queen. Jon was now 
a marked figure for the king’s favor as his father 
had been. He was no longer regarded as a hostage 


12 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


and when he expressed a wish to visit Iceland, 
no objections were made. 

Jon found many changes, when he returned 
home. His father was now Iceland’s foremost 
citizen. He had been elected Chief Justice of the 
Supreme Court, the highest position in the repub¬ 
lic. 7 Jon’s sister, Ingeborg, had given her hand 
to a powerful young chieftain named Gissur and 
this match was considered an additional honor for 
the poet-statesman. Snorra had reached the zenith 
of his career. Little did he realize how soon his 
glory would wane. 

Meanwhile another wedding had taken place 
which aroused even greater interest than Inge- 
borg’s, that of the charming Margaret, who had 
come to know and respect her intended husband. 
She had been promised to Haakon without being 
asked,—that was reason for not liking him, to be 
sure,—but she was far too sensible not to see his 
good qualities, for he showed every courtesy and 
kindness to his intended bride, and so, finally, it 
came to be a real love match after all! 

Lucky young couple! In their marriage, yes. 
But this did not keep them from a great unhappi¬ 
ness, a misfortune brought upon them by the very 
one who had planned for their happiness. Mar¬ 
garet’s father, Earl Skula, was of a jealous nature 
and as he grew older he became more and more 
envious. He felt that he should be king of Nor- 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


13 


way and the popularity of his daughter’s husband 
only vexed him. As the years went by, every now 
and then some little word or act showed that 
Skula’s loyalty to his king was wavering. The lat¬ 
ter tried to appease his father-in-law. Honors 
were heaped upon him, but so long as the greatest 
honor was denied, the discontented earl could find 
no peace. Margaret saw with dismay the rift 
growing between her father and her husband. 

On a dark November evening in Bergen, King 
Haakon first received the dreaded news: Earl 
Skula had revolted and proclaimed himself king 
of Norway. The young king sat in silence for 
some time, then he went to the queen’s apartments 
and asked to see her. 8 

It was late. The ladies-in-waiting were asleep 
but a faint light was still burning. The king 
hastened to the queen’s bedside. The beautiful 
Margaret, clad in a sleeping-gown of soft silk, 
was about to retire, but when she saw Haakon she 
threw a scarlet cloak about her shoulders and 
hastened to him. In an instant her eyes reflected 
the doubt and distress in his, though she did not 
question him at once. Man and wife they were, 
indeed, and loved each other as fondly as any 
couple of more lowly origin, but he was king and 
she was queen. 

a Won’t you sit down?” she asked. 

He shook his head. 


14 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


And then, “You have perhaps received impor¬ 
tant news?” she ventured. 

“Nothing very important except that there are 
now two kings in Norway.” 

“Oh,” cried the woman—the unhappy daughter, 
hiding her face in her hands. Then the wife, and 
the queen, spoke. 

“There is only one rightful king in Norway,” 
she said, stretching her hands toward him. “And 
that is you! God and Saint Olaf grant that it may 
always be so.” 

Haakon took her in his arms. Then he told 
hef the details as he had heard them,—how her 
fatherhad w called an assembly and how the assem¬ 
bly had proclaimed him king. 

And so the daughter spoke: “As you love me,” 
she cried, “believe this not of my father, until you 
know it to be true!” 

The young king held her still closer in his arms. 

“Dear Margaret,” he whispered, “it is hardest 
of all for you. But I know that whatever happens, 
you are first my wife, and true.” 

To which Margaret breathed assent in a kiss. 
Her kind husband was still both her lover and her 
king. 

Strangely enough, a woman in Iceland had 
meanwhile undergone trials similar to Queen 
Margaret’s and had been forced to choose between 
husband and father. Ingeborg’s husband, the chief- 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


15 


tain Gissur, had become so jealous of the great 
skald’s influence that he was secretly trying to un¬ 
dermine his power. But Ingeborg believed her 
husband was in the wrong and left him to return 
to her father’s house. Snorra, however, preferred 
to avoid a conflict, although he was aware of Gis- 
sur’s unfriendliness; thus there came no open 
breach between father and son-in-law. And 
Snorra continued to be Iceland’s mightiest man. 

News had come to King Haakon of Norway of 
Snorra’s growing influence. He felt that Snorra 
could now, if he would, fulfill his promise to bring 
Iceland under the crown of Norway, but there 
were no indications of any such intention on Snor¬ 
ra’s part. The latter expected that Haakon would 
some day refer to the old promise, but now his mas- 
terwork, The Saga of the Sons of Frey, was almost 
completed. When that should be read aloud at 
court, it would surely serve to postpone the day of 
reckoning. However, Snorra no longer had his 
promising young son to present his work. Jon had 
returned to Norway, it is true, but had been killed 
in a duel. 

“Snorra swore loyalty to you, but he is shaping 
power only for himself,” suggested a wily courtier 
to King Haakon. 

“He calls the new meeting hall, Valhalla, and 
one can guess that he is acting the part of Odin,” 
insinuated another. 


16 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


King Haakon hesitated to think that Snorra 
would deliberately play him false. But what about 
the promise? 

“Do not listen to their hints,” protested Queen 
Margaret. “These flatterers are merely jealous of 
your esteem for Snorra, our good friend. Oh, why 
is there so much jealousy wherever one turns?” 

And now comes the most terrible blow of all, 
Earl Skula’s disloyalty. Already there have been 
rumors that Snorra sympathizes with the earl. 
Margaret herself must admit that Snorra’s con¬ 
nections have been closer with her father than with 
her husband, the king. Earl Skula’s men are com¬ 
ing into all parts of Norway, trying to arouse the 
people and burning and pillaging where they meet 
with resistance. 

“It is true!” cries the king one day, rushing ex¬ 
citedly into his wife’s apartment. “Your father 
has promised to make Snorra earl of Iceland. If 
treachery to our crown is to be stamped out, both 
must die.” 

“Send for Snorra yourself,” pleads the fair Mar¬ 
garet. “Give him a chance to explain away these 
rumors, if he can.” 

“Very well,” answers the angry king. “I shall 
send for him. But if he does not come, it shall be 
his death.” 

Shortly after, Gissur in Iceland received a secret 
letter from King Haakon. It appointed him a 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


17 


royal envoy and bade him have Snorra sent back 
to Norway or murdered. 

Earl Skula’s rebellion was a failure. The too- 
ambitious nobleman was surrounded, his troops 
disbanded and he himself paid the final penalty, 
being slain in the defense of a lost cause. Peace 
was restored in Norway and the king, more be¬ 
loved by his people than ever, had nothing more 
to fear. But over in Iceland, the false Gissur still 
felt that he had a mission and resolved to carry 
it out, whether or no. 

One day Snorra received a strange letter. He 
could not discover from whence it came, but its 
message was: “Be on your guard!” 

Snorra was already on his guard. The general 
hatred of Gissur, fanned into flame by King Haa¬ 
kon’s commission, had lighted other fires. Other 
ambitious Icelandic politicians, jealous of the fa¬ 
mous poet-statesman, were easily persuaded that 
Snorra was using foul means to keep his power. 
So Snorra quietly left his estate and sought the 
home of good friends who lived on a remote farm. 
From there he hoped to make connections with his 
different enemies and convince them of his hon¬ 
esty. 

Gissur, however, did not wish to be convinced. 
He did not wish to send Snorra back to Norway 
where that master of words could undoubtedly win 
back the royal favor. Queen Margaret might wait 


18 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


day after day or week after week for the return 
of her childhood friend,—that was a matter that 
did not concern Gissur. Instead, the crafty Ice¬ 
lander sought out the hiding-place of the skald, 
and one night Snorra’s former friends discovered 
that their house was surrounded by an armed 
force. 

“In the name of King Haakon of Norway, I 
demand speech with Snorra,” announced Gissur. 

But Snorra was not there. 

In those times, folk in danger often sought 
refuge in a church. No sin was greater than the 
desecration of a holy spot by murder, so that even 
notorious sinners sometimes escaped judgment by 
retiring to some sanctuary. Gissur knew this and 
proceeded to a chapel near the farm. 

“Bid Snorra come out!” commanded Gissur of 
the priest. 

“Can not you and Snorra come to an understand¬ 
ing?” suggested the latter timidly. 

“Bid him come out,” thundered Gissur. “How 
can there be an understanding, if we do not 
meet?” 

“Snorra is here,” replied the priest, stepping 
aside, “but remember these walls are holy.” 

“Strike him down!” cried Gissur, the tyrant. 

“You dare not strike!” answered Snorra with 
equal spirit, advancing toward his oppressors. 

He stood there defenseless but without fear. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 19 


There was something awe-inspiring in the dignity 
of that stalwart figure with flashing eyes and flow¬ 
ing white hair. No one would touch him. 

“Strike!” repeated Gissur; this time to his own 
slave. And the slave struck. There was no re¬ 
sistance. In a moment the venerable figure lay 
at their feet, quite still. 

Snorra was dead. 

The news of the death of the master-skald came 
to the court of Norway along with a sealed packet 
addressed to King Haakon in Snorra’s handwrit¬ 
ing. In the packet was the work which Snorra 
had been writing for so many years and had just 
finished for his king —The Saga of the Sons of 
Frey. 

“Snorra is dead; Snorra is dead,” repeated 
Queen Margaret slowly. Her thoughts went back 
through the years; she was a child again, a rollick¬ 
ing, thoughtless, golden-haired girl, begging her 
kind friend for “one story more.” Before her lay 
the manuscript; here was a feast of stories, old 
and new, but Queen Margaret could not read 
them. Her tears were falling and blotting the fair 
pages. 

“Poor Margaret,” whispered King Haakon, lay¬ 
ing his hand on her shoulder. “I had hoped that 
he would come, but now it is too late.” 

“Snorra is dead,” repeated Margaret, “but his 
memory shall live as long as these rock-bound 


20 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


coasts are Norway. May the fame of our friend 
ring down the years and his tales bring joy to the 
unborn thousands that will learn to love him as I 
have loved him. 9 

1 In Icelandic the name Snorra is spelled “Snorri” but pro¬ 
nounced more like Snorra. Other proper names in these tales 
are simplified or slightly altered to indicate a more correct pro¬ 
nunciation. 

2 A scholar known as Saxo Grammaticus lived at this time in 
Denmark and in his introduction to a celebrated collection 
of tales he makes this tribute to the lore of Iceland: “Nor 
must I pass over in silence the industry of the Icelanders. The 
barrenness of their country makes them conservative by na¬ 
ture and they spend much time collecting the knowledge of 
other peoples, enriching their own physical poverty by develop¬ 
ing spiritual gifts. Their treasure chambers filled with price¬ 
less lore from the past have been carefully ransacked and I am 
not ashamed to acknowledge my debt for not a little that I 
have taken for my own work, because I know how wise they 
are as to the events of bygone ages:” 

About six centuries later, in 1841, Thomas Carlyle makes 
a similar tribute: “In that strange island, Iceland,—burst-up, 
the geologists say, by fire from the bottom of the sea; a wild 
land of barrenness and lava; swallowed many months of every 
year in black tempests, yet with a wild gleaming beauty in the 
summer-time; towering up there, stern and grim, in the North 
Ocean; with its snow jokuls, roaring geysers, sulphur-pools 
and horrid volcanic chasms, like the waste chaotic battle-field of 
Frost and Fire—where of all places we least looked for litera¬ 
ture or written memorials, the record of these things was writ¬ 
ten down. On the seaboard of this wild land is a rim of 
grassy country, where cattle can subsist, and men by means of 



STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


21 


them and of what the sea yields; and it seems they were poetic 
men these, men who had deep thoughts in them, and uttered 
musically their thoughts. Much would be lost, had Iceland 
not been burst-up from the sea, not been discovered by the 
Northmen!”—From On Heroes and Hero Worship . 

3 Haakon is pronounced Ho-kon. The Scandinavian aa is one 
letter, the nearest equivalent in English being o; in fact the 
Scandinavians themselves in some words now substitute the 
one for the other. 

4 “One of the most important and interesting works in Old 
Norse literature, published anonymously. It is in the form 
of a dialogue between father and son in which the author 
planned to describe the education, culture and manners of 
society.”— History of the Norwegian People , by Gjerset. 

5 Thus runs Snorra’s own preface to the Heimskringla as we 
have it to-day. One of the most noteworthy features of his 
work is that he wrote it “in the Danish tongue.” No work in 
those days was universally acknowledged unless it was written 
in Latin. Snorra’s contemporary in Denmark, the monk Saxo, 
wrote in Latin. Snorra’s wisdom in choosing his own language 
—the common speech of all the Far North was then known 
as Danish—is more evident to-day than at the time he dared 
to take the new step. Saxo’s stories have their charm, but the 
modern student following his involved, flowing sentences re¬ 
grets that he did not use his own language. The pithy, concise 
style of Snorra’s writings is in direct contrast to Saxo’s. The 
mere fact that they are written in “Danish” seems to improve 
the tales, it seems to have been easier for Snorra to find the 
right words to suit the right ideas. 

The “Danish” which Snorra used had been one of Europe’s 
most important languages. When England was under Danish 
rule (in the early part of the eleventh century) the languages 
of the two countries were practically the same—the speech 


22 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


generally used wherever the Norsemen had established their 
dominion. 

“Indeed our English blood, too, in good part, is Danish- 
Norse,” says Carlyle, “or rather at bottom, Danish and Norse 
and Saxon have no distinction, except a superficial one,—as 
of heathen or Christian. But all over our Island we are 
mingled largely with Danes proper. . . . All over Scot¬ 

land, the speech of the common people is still in a singular 
degree Icelandic.” 

“The first missionaries to Norway came from England, 
where the gospel was preached, not in the Latin church lan¬ 
guage commonly used at that time, but in the people’s own 
tongue,” says Dr. Knut Gjerset in his History of the Norwegian 
People . 

That students to-day still study Icelandic in order to read 
.Snorra in the original is certainly a tribute both to the skald 
and the language. 

6 This work is now known as the Younger Edda to distin¬ 
guish it from the Elder Edda , an earlier collection of Icelandic 
poems. Edda has been thought to mean “Great-grandmother,” 
in the sense that the work was the great-grandmother of poetry, 
but the true meaning would seem to be “Skald-Craft or the Art 
of Composition ." Snorra’s so-called Younger Edda is not only 
one of the world’s literary masterpieces, but the only work 
of its kind. 

7 This was a life position. Snorra’s dramatic talents also served 
him here, as a picturesque duty of this office was the public 
recitation of the laws before the assembly (the al-thing). The 
analogy between Snorra’s position and that of our own Chief 
Justice is striking and is another evidence of the advanced cul¬ 
ture of Iceland in certain directions at this early period. The 
al-thing dates back to 930. 

8 This is one of the famous scenes in the romantic period of 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


23 


Norway’s history, vividly told in the Saga of Haakon Haakon - 
son , which was written shortly afterward. The story of the 
strife between Haakon the Great and Earl Skula also gave 
Ibsen a theme for his best historical drama— Kongs-Emnerne — 
1863. The pathetic figure of Margaret, torn between the emo¬ 
tions of wife and daughter, furnishes a heroine worthy of Nor¬ 
way’s greatest dramatist. 

9 Snorra is still a living figure in Norway, and especially in 
Iceland. He is in fact the greatest man ever produced by that 
dim island of the Far North. He is to Icelanders what Ben¬ 
jamin Franklin is to Americans—a writer, a statesman, a poli¬ 
tician, a diplomat, an inventor. Snorra built a bath-house on 
his estate applying scientific principles to the regulation of the 
flow from a hot spring and this bath still exists to attest the 
wisdom of the builder. 

Gustav Storm’s Norwegian edition of Snorra gives a com¬ 
plete and scholarly description of this master-skald and his 
works. It is a book especially designed for the children of 
Norway and can be had for a nominal price. In the preface, 
attention is drawn to the historical value of Snorra’s work as 
follows: 

“Snorra’s work is a collection of biographies with fine de¬ 
scriptions of character. A special point is the clever composi¬ 
tion where everything irrelevant is kept out and every detail 
belongs to the whole. His collection of biographies of the 
kings of Norway has thus become the history of a race where 
every single figure stands out as a personality. In contrast 
to his predecessors, Snorra in describing his main actors (the 
kings) includes a great number of secondary characters, but 
only when they help to form the frame around the main 
figure without distracting the interest from him. His most 
important method of presenting his characters is in letting 
them speak for themselves. In his conversations every word 


24 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


seems inspired by the character of the speaker, although they 
are naturally entirely the work of Snorra.” 

Regarding Snorra’s politics, there is this interesting comment 
in the preface: “There is no doubt that Snorra deliberately 
wrote into some of the best of his work, a number of speeches 
where he indirectly opposes the king of Norway’s plan against 
Iceland.” 


0 


II 

THE WONDER-PRINCE FROM 
AASGAARD 


Odin , the Wonder-Prince 

Frey , hostage and warrior 
priest 

Mimer, the wise 1 . 

Heyner jhostages 


Siiold } Chi6ftainS 
Gy If a, a king in Sweden 
Svegda, Frey’s grandson 
Freya , hostage and priestess 
Gefion , a warrior-maiden 


Place: The city of Aasgaard; later northern Europe. 


THE SEARCH FOR THE NORTHLAND 

T ONG ago there lay to the east, a shining 
^ city with spires and minarets towering so high 
above the mighty battlements that they seemed to 
pierce the sky itself. The city was called Aas¬ 
gaard 1 and its ruler, Prince Odin, was known far 
and wide as a warrior and magician. Brave was 
Odin, leader of the Aasa folk, brave and wise; 
and so great was his wisdom in the Things of the 
Unseen World that it was said he used magic to 
protect his people from their enemies. 

The worst enemy of the Aasa folk were the men 
of Vanaland, a kingdom on the River Don, where 
it flows into the Black Sea. Wild and warlike 
were the sons of Vanaland, but they had no gleam¬ 
ing city like Aasgaard and it vexed them to hear 
continually of the glories of something they could 


26 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


not possess. Travelers sung its praises; caravans 
trailing over the desert brought the choicest wares 
to sell in its broad market-places; holy men jour¬ 
neyed long distances to see the sacrifices which the 
people of Aasa made to the Sun, for Aasgaard 
was famous as a sacred city. 2 

The Vana folk themselves were awed by the 
splendor of Aasgaard. High on a hill it stood 
like a tempting Paradise and up and down its 
causeway the day long went a ceaseless throng,— 
the haughty, god-like Aasa folk. At festival times 
signs of religious ceremonials were seen above the 
walls, smoke by day, fire by night—and then the 
men and women of Vana knew that the twelve 
warrior-priests sung their chants while the offer¬ 
ings were being made and the priestesses read 
the runes or moved in mystic circles round the 
shrine. 

Of an evening the portals of the city—massive 
gates of iron wrought with gold—would fly open 
and over the fields would ride the warrior maidens. 
Their golden hair flowed loose from under their 
golden winged helmets; their white horses seemed 
to tread on air; their shields and spears glistened 
like lightning, and their war-cry echoed from 
their fair throats. For the daughters of this virile 
race were trained in the arts of war as well as 
those of peace and could stand shoulder to shoul¬ 
der with their stalwart brothers to defend the 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 27 


honor of their city and fight for Odin, their Won¬ 
der-Prince. 3 

Thus it happened that the people of Vanaland 
envied the people of Aasgaard so much that they 
formed an expedition and sallied forth to take the 
city. Prince Odin had previously commanded an 
army against the aggressive Vana folk, but this 
attack was as unexpected as it was overpowering. 
All the magical charms he had formerly used to 
defend his capital seemed unavailing against new 
wizards that followed with the Vanaland army. 
The enemy were in the act of scaling the walls! 

“Ah ? ” thought Odin, “if I were only ten men— 
or a hundred—or as many as my whole army, in¬ 
deed—even now there would be hope.” 

He then resolved to make a supreme test of his 
powers. Standing on the lofty stairway of his 
palace 4 he ordered his soldiers to pass by in single 
file and as they obeyed him he laid his hand on 
each head. Suddenly each man found himself 
braver and stronger than before, just as though 
each had received in that touch a bit of Odin’s own 
irresistible self. 5 Rushing to the battlements, they 
renewed the defense so boldly that the Vana sol¬ 
diers, startled, began to withdraw. The result was 
a complete victory for the Aasa. 

Odin offered the defeated enemy favorable 
peace conditions and each nation agreed to send 
hostages to the other as a pledge of good faith. 


28 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


It was agreed, further, that the very best men from 
each side should be sent, and thus Vanaland of¬ 
fered one of their most valiant warriors, a stalwart 
young fellow with fair hair and flashing eyes; his 
name was Frey. His sister, Freya, a handsome and 
brilliant young woman, was also sent. They were 
of one of the wealthiest and most powerful families 
of Tanais, the capital of Vanaland. 6 In return, 
Odin sent as hostages, Aasgaard’s wisest man and 
her handsomest man, whose names were Mimer 
and Heyner. 

The people of Vana were especially impressed 
with Heyner and they made him a judge in Tanais. 
Here his decisions were so wise that all Vanaland 
heard of them and the most difficult problems were 
brought him for solution. Mimer, however, real¬ 
ly made the decisions, and when he did not happen 
to be present and a decision was asked for, Heyner 
would look around and not finding his wise com¬ 
panion, would say, “Some one else will have to de¬ 
cide this.” 

This could perhaps have been thought a clever 
answer, if it had happened only once, but it hap¬ 
pened more than once, and always when Mimer 
was away. When the people finally discovered 
that they had been referring important questions 
to a stranger who was really not wise, they became 
angry and blamed Odin for their own stupidity. 
They could very well show that they could decide 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 29 


their own questions without referring them to 
hostages from another nation! And to show how 
independent they felt, they cut off the head of the 
real wise man, Mimer, and sent it to Prince Odin. 

The people of Aasgaard were most incensed 
when Mimer’s head was received and some of 
them wanted to cut off the heads of Frey and 
Freya as a return compliment. But not so, Odin. 
He knew that such an act would only bring back 
the old state of uncertainty, he also had been much 
impressed by the nobility of this brother and sis¬ 
ter whom the enemy had sent him. So he called 
a meeting of the people in the broad square before 
his palace. Something unusual was certainly about 
to happen. On a pedestal he placed Mimer’s head 
which he had preserved in herbs. The priests and 
priestesses began a sacred chant and Odin started 
to move slowly around the pedestal, making passes 
with his hands and repeating strange verses. 

He paused. The singers were silent. Every 
one waited in suspense ... as the head of 
Mimer opened its eyes, then its lips. Yes, the 
bodiless head of the wise man actually spoke and 
what it said was more astonishing than anything 
that had ever been heard before in that sacred 
city. 

“There is an enemy,” said the sepulchral voice, 
“more to be feared than the citizens of Vanaland. 
These are the people that live in Romaborg, 7 who 


30 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


are trying to conquer the world. Many are fleeing 
from these terrible people—and they that flee are 
the most lucky. If the Aasa folk do not wish to be 
slaves they must seek another home, for Aasgaard 
will tempt Romaborg as it did Vanaland.” 

The people looked at one another, awe-struck, 
and then turned to Odin, awaiting his advice. The 
Wonder-Prince summoned the hostage Frey be¬ 
fore him. 

“We have reached a crisis,” said Odin, “where 
we need leaders brave and strong. We could 
easily send Frey back to Vanaland as Mimer was 
returned to us, but now we have the wisdom of 
Mimer again and can well find use for the valor 
of Frey. Frey shall not return to Vanaland; he 
shall be one of us hereafter. As a proof of confi¬ 
dence, I hereby make him one of our warrior 
priests to lead our people and add to our knowl¬ 
edge the best of what he has learned in Vana¬ 
land.” 

The young warrior bowed in acknowledgment 
of his gratitude; the people were silent. This was 
not in accord with the customs they knew but they 
trusted their leader Odin. Freya was then sum¬ 
moned by Odin and given a place among the 
priestesses, being admonished to teach the women 
of Assgaard the best of what she had learned in 
Vanaland. Finally Odin stated that the words of 
Mimer had been so startling that he felt he must 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 31 


himself make a journey abroad to determine their 
meaning. 

Because of his knowledge of magic, Odin could 
travel much more easily than ordinary folk. His 
ship was the strangest ever seen, and a most con¬ 
venient one, for when not in use, it could be rolled 
up like a carpet and carried under the arm. Many 
times it was more convenient to make short trips 
in disguise and then Odin could leave his body 
which seemed to be sleeping and travel as a fish, 
a bird, a snake or some other animal. 8 His people 
knew this, and, therefore, when he left them and 
years went by without his returning, they thought 
he must be dead. As he had taken the head of 
Mimer with him, the Aasa folk felt that they had 
lost their best advisers. 

But Odin was not dead. Without warning he 
appeared one fine day at the portal of Aasgaard, 
and the enthusiastic populace flocked around him 
as he made his way to his palace. From the lofty 
stairway he addressed them, and every one listened 
intently to the words that flowed from his lips. 
Prince Odin had a habit of speaking in verse and 
what he said was not unlike this: 

“I come from a wonderful journey; 

To the west through the grim, gray mountains 
And over the vast plains of Scythia 

I came farther north, to an ocean. 


32 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


I found there a land with a future— 

Deep valleys quite uncultivated; 

A stern land, perhaps, but a free one— 

No Romans shall hold it in bondage. 

This Northland I now wish to give you; 
Come, follow me out and possess it; 

To linger too long may mean slavery— 

A terrible fate threatens Aasgaard!” 

Yes, Odin, the Wonder-Prince, was advising his 
people to leave their shining city and follow him 
across unknown wastes in search of a new prom¬ 
ised land. The place was alive with excitement 
and many families refused to consider such a pil¬ 
grimage, but in the end, the larger part of the in¬ 
habitants decided to follow their leader on his 
journey. 

The pilgrims were arranged in twelve divisions, 
each division being commanded by a warrior- 
priest. The fair-haired Frey from Vanaland had 
now won the respect of all the Aasa folk and he 
was second only to Odin. Stalwart and powerful 
he was, his clear blue eyes gleamed with the fire of 
inspiration, his whole person glowed with a spirit¬ 
ual as well as a physical strength that invited the 
trust of his fellows. A fitting leader he was indeed. 

Another warrior-priest was Tor, a swarthy red- 
bearded chieftain. Others were Balder, Heimdal 
and Skiold. 9 And Freya led the warrior maids on 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


33 


their white horses. A wonderful company it was 
that streamed out of Aasgaard’s portals—legion 
upon legion—that eventful day—down the cause¬ 
way and out, out across the plains, toward the dim 
Unknown. 

Thus the pilgrimage in search of the Northland 
began. Westward the armies swept, and still west¬ 
ward. Those were weary plains, those stretches 
known as Scythia. Gardarika was a gray melan¬ 
choly land. The years went by. Now it was a 
more attractive country where these nomads 
pitched their tents; in Saxony many found the land 
to their liking and weary of wandering made new 
homes there. But Odin, his twelve chieftains and 
great numbers of his people still kept on. 

Their belief in their Wonder-Prince was not in 
vain. One day the great blue ocean that Odin had 
so often told them about, lay before them. Just 
across a narrow channel from the shore, was a smil¬ 
ing, green-clad island. 

“Over there,” cried Odin, “we shall make our 
home.” 10 

And the long pilgrimage was ended. 

GEFION'S PLOW 

“Gefion, Gefion, where are you going with those 
four oxen and the big plow?” 

“I’m going to Sweden, to plow me a piece of 
land,” answers Gefion, cracking her whip. 


34 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


And Gylva, King of Sweden, was more than 
sorry she came; for she plowed the best of his land 
away. This is how it happened: 

Skiold, son of Odin, was in love with the war¬ 
rior-maiden Gefion, 11 but Odin would not let them 
marry as he said he had no home to give them, 
the island being already over-filled with the people 
that had followed him from Aasgaard. 

“If we only had an island all our own,” sighed 
Skiold. 

“Well,” said Gefion, the warrior maid, “there 
is plenty of land. See what fine meadows and 
woodland the king of Sweden has. I think I shall 
go over to King Gylva and see if he will not do 
something for us.” 

King Gylva had heard about the wandering 
Aasa folk, and he feared the might and magic of 
their Wonder-Prince. However, he felt that he 
must treat them with courtesy as they might other¬ 
wise harm him. Therefore, when Gefion stood be¬ 
fore him like a stalwart amazon, stating that she 
came from Odin and that she was looking for land, 
Gylva inquired very respectfully why she wanted 
it. 

“I wish to plow it,” answered Gefion. 

Gylva invited Gefion to follow him and they 
came upon a hill where Gylva stopped and 
pointed out over a beautiful stretch of country. 

“If you can plow across that land a furrow so 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 35 


deep that water will flow into it and separate it 
from the rest of my kingdom, you may have it 
all” 

Gefion thanked the king and withdrew; and the 
king thought himself very clever for having got 
rid of her so easily. Meanwhile the warrior 
maiden returned to Skiold and Odin and told them 
what had happened, and Odin brought out the 
head of Mimer to which he often referred serious 
problems and asked for advice. 

“Have you not a son?” asked Mimer’s head of 
Gefion. 

“Yes,” she answered, “I have four.” 

You see, Gefion had once inspired the admira¬ 
tion of a giant who carried her off to his home in 
the snowy mountains of Jotunheim. There she 
lived a number of years during which time she 
bore the giant four sons, but finally she was able 
to make her escape and brought her little boys 
to Denmark. “Little” is hardly the word to de¬ 
scribe them for they soon grew to be so large that 
there was hardly room for them on Odin’s island, 
and they were so ugly and mean that every one 
was afraid of them. So the wisdom of Mimer’s 
answer is plain. 

“The best thing to do,” said Mimer’s head, “is to 
change your big, ugly sons into oxen. Then get 
Odin to make you a magic plow and you will be 
able to win the land Gylva offers you.” 


36 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


If Odin had not been a magician, the advice of 
Mimer would have been of little use, but Odin’s 
powers seemed to grow greater every day. If he 
himself could become a bird, a snake or a fish 
when he liked, why could he not make other peo¬ 
ple into oxen? Many incantations were necessary, 
with passes and other mystical rites when—mar¬ 
velous to behold—the giant sons of Gefion became 
four huge beasts of burden. A sigh of relief went 
up from the people in Denmark for they were 
glad to get rid of such uncomfortably big boys. 
Meanwhile a magic plow had been conjured up 
by Odin, which fitted the oxen exactly. 

Once more Gefion, the warrior maiden, came 
to King Gylva. But she came in quite another 
fashion, for she drove an enormous plow which 
four monsters pulled over sea and land, tramping 
and snorting, as if it made no difference to them 
where they went. The land shook as though there 
was an earthquake and King Gylva nearly tumbled 
off his throne. 

“By all means begin plowing at once!” he ex¬ 
claimed when Gefion swung up to the palace, 
cracking a mighty whip. 

So Gefion plowed. And how those huge oxen 
worked, pawing and straining until smoke and 
flames poured from their nostrils, their heavy tails 
beat the air into a whirlwind, so that a cloud of 
earth and water flew around them until it dark- 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


37 


ened the sun. Thus you can understand that a 
furrow soon lay across the land so deep that the 
sea flowed in and separated it from the rest of 
Gylva’s kingdom. Gefion had triumphed. 

But the oxen did not stop. They kept right on 
out into the water, Gefion holding them tightly 
with the reins, and after them floated the land, 
separated by the deep furrow, until, entirely sur¬ 
rounded by water,it formed an island. 

“I am losing the best part of my kingdom!” la¬ 
mented King Gylva, as the island floated farther 
and farther away. 

But Gylva’s loss was Gefion’s gain; Skiold and 
the warrior maiden could now marry, as they 
owned a whole province where their children and 
their children’s children could live and multiply. 
They built a beautiful capital on the island called 
Leidra. Leidra has long since been a name only, 12 
but the sons of Skiold and Gefion have been kings 
of Denmark ever since. 

The new island was called Zealand. The place 
where it had been filled up with water and became 
a lake. They say that the points of land which 
make Zealand’s coast line still correspond to the 
inlets of the lake. 15 

THE PASSING OF ODIN 

Prince Odin’s new home in the Northland had 
become too small for the continually increasing 


38 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


Aasa folk. Gefion and Skiold had indeed been 
lucky in finding new estates. Their success in¬ 
spired other young couples to look with longing 
eyes toward the kingdom of Gylva; perhaps there 
was also land over yonder for them. 

So it came to pass that Odin’s people and Gylva’s 
people had disagreements. And these disagree¬ 
ments resulted in each side trying to outwit the 
other. The contests, however, always ended badly 
for Gylva’s side for the Aasa people were the more 
clever. Once it became a question of weapons, 
but Odin’s men went against their enemy as though 
neither fire nor iron could harm them and their 
foes actually became blind and deaf with fear 
while their swords seemed like so many straws. 
Especially did the person of Odin himself awe his 
opponents. When leading his army, mounted on 
a fiery steed, he seemed the embodiment of fierce¬ 
ness and destruction, but when he sat in conference 
and reasoned with them, he fascinated them with 
his charm. Finally Gylva concluded that this was 
a man one should much rather have as a friend 
than an enemy and he actually invited Odin to 
come to Sweden to live, bringing as many follow¬ 
ers as he liked. 

In Sweden were mighty stretches of untouched 
land, fair lakes glistening among wooded hills, for¬ 
bidding mountains hiding charming dales behind 
their high gray walls, rushing rivers where trout 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 39 


and salmon played. Here indeed seemed room 
for all, for Gylva’s settlements were nothing more 
than a fringe on the wilderness. 

Again the legions of Odin were in motion, the 
red-bearded Tor leading his group of fighters, 
Freya with her priestesses and warrior maids on 
their white horses, and the god-like Frey, second 
only to the Wonder-Prince himself. There was 
place for them all; they spread over the land which 
seemed to blossom anew under their magic touch. 
On a wide plain a new capital was built. It was 
not quite such a fine city as Aasgaard, but resem¬ 
bled it in many ways, especially as a sacred city. 
The walls of a new temple rose and here smoke 
by day and fire by night gave hint of the sacrifices 
over which Freya now presided as head priestess. 
The name of the new city was Upsala. 14 

But there came a time when Odin must take a 
journey where the others could not follow. He 
called to his bedside, Frey and Freya, the brother 
and sister who had followed him on so many of 
his wanderings, and spoke as follows: 

“I have always been a wanderer,” said Odin. 
“Sometimes I have taken my body with me, but 
sometimes I have made my journeys in spirit, re¬ 
turning to my body later on. I am now preparing 
for a journey in the spirit, but I shall leave my 
body with you and I want you to mark it with a 
spear-point as a sign for my followers.” 


40 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


“What is the meaning of this sign?” asked Frey. 

“It will mean,” answered the Wonder-Prince, 
“that all brave men who fall in the fight shall fol¬ 
low me to the home of the gods where I am now 
going. There I shall welcome them in my palace 
of Valhalla and I shall also find a place for you, 
my friends, when you take the same journey. 
Meanwhile, Frey, you must rule the land. A 
mighty race of kings will spring from you. 
Freya’s name shall also be long respected and I 
trust you both to keep up the rites and customs of 
Aasgaard among my people.” 

Odin’s body lay quite still. It was plain that 
his spirit had departed on its last great quest. 
With bowed heads, the brother and sister went 
from the silent chamber. Outside the populace 
had assembled to learn the latest news about their 
leader, and Frey gave them Odin’s message. 

“What does it mean?” “Will he never come 
back?” asked the crowd excitedly. 

“He has gone from us forever,” repeated Frey 
sadly. “But in Valhalla, he will receive those who 
fight and fall in defending his kingdom.” 

“Odin has returned to Aasgaard,” went the 
rumor and many suggested: “Let us send to Aas¬ 
gaard and bring him back.” But nobody knew 
or remembered where Aasgaard lay; or whether 
he meant the earthly Aasgaard or some magical 
Aasgaard in Heaven. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 41 


As Odin had declared that he would never re¬ 
turn, it was decided to burn his body on a mighty 
funeral pyre. It was the belief that the higher 
the smoke ascended, the higher the spirit of the 
departed would sit in Heaven. The smoke from 
Odin’s pyre went up and up—higher than smoke 
had ever reached before, which seemed a sign 
that Odin’s place in Heaven was of the highest. 
Thus Aasgaard came to be regarded as a celestial 
city and Odin as a god; Valhalla, his home for 
fallen heroes, was at the end of the rainbow, it 
was said. 

Frey built a new temple at Upsala, finer than 
the old one and consecrated it to Odin, using for 
this purpose the income from the lands which 
Odin had given him. 15 For many years Frey ruled 
the kingdom and at this time the Great Peace 
came over the world. Nowhere on earth was there 
fighting, not even down in the empire of the im¬ 
perial Augustus at Romaborg. For in those days, 
the Christ was born. But no one in the Far North 
knew of the event. Little did they realize that 
some day, even in Upsala, the worship of their 
Wonder-Prince would yield to the worship of a 
still greater Wonder-Prince from the East. 

Then the time came when Frey must also de¬ 
part on the long journey, a spirit journey, leaving 
his body behind. His nearest friends did not dare 
to tell the Swedes—as the people of his kingdom 


42 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


were now called—that Frey had left them. They 
carried his body secretly to a hill where they 
watched over it for three years, saying that he still 
lived there. There were three openings to the hill 
and thither the people brought offerings to 
their beloved king until one hole became filled 
with gold, another with silver and the third with 
copper money. In the meantime, Freya, his sis¬ 
ter, presided over the sacrifices. She lived long 
after all the other Aasa folk were dead and was 
famed for her knowledge throughout the Far 
North. But when the Swedes finally discovered 
that Frey had really left them while peace and 
prosperity still continued, they decided that his 
body should never be burned. Thereafter he was 
regarded as the god of peace and good times and 
received more homage than even the war-like 
Odin. 

Frey’s son succeeded his father as king of 
Sweden but met an unfortunate death, for while 
visiting his friend the king of Denmark at Leidra, 
he fell into a cistern which held the castle’s mead 
supply and was drowned. His son Svegda when 
he became Sweden’s king, made a rash promise, 
for he said he would find Aasgaard again. The 
people had begun to miss the advice and leader¬ 
ship of the wise Aasa folk and they thought that 
perhaps after all Odin had returned to the old 
Aasgaard. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 43 


Svegda started out across the plain of Scythia 
with twelve leaders, just as Odin had come with 
twelve warrior-priests to the Far North. Travel¬ 
ing was easier than in the old days so that they 
finally came down to Turkey; then to Vanaland 
where they actually found the city of Tanais 
whence Frey and Frey a had come. 

“The people resemble us,” cried Svegda jubi¬ 
lantly. “We must be near our journey’s end.” 

And so they were. 

One evening King Svedga and his men were 
entertained at a fine manor house. On the grounds 
there was a rock as large as the house itself, which 
they were shown as a curiosity. On the way home 
after the banquet, where they had had much to 
eat and drink, they went by the rock and were 
surprised to see a dwarf sitting near it. 

“Come in, come in,” cried the dwarf, pointing 
to a door that had suddenly made its appearance. 
“Odin is awaiting you there.” 

It seemed a streak of luck, a sign from the gods 
themselves and so King Svegda went in, followed 
by the dwarf. The door closed—and disappeared. 
King Svegda was never seen again. 

But Odin had not really deserted his people. 
When the Norsemen met with reverses in battle 
and all human help seemed unavailing, in spirit he 
came to their aid. First there was a whirring in 
the air and a glint of white and gold as though 


44 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


the golden-haired Valkyrie maidens were riding 
by on their white horses. Then came a gigantic 
shape on horseback with dazzling armor and a 
mighty sword. 

“Forward, yours is the victory!” it shouted, and 
the Valkyries echoed and re-echoed their trium¬ 
phal war-cry. 

Yes, their Wonder-Prince was with them still 
and each warrior knew that if he fell in the fight, 
he would come with Odin’s warrior maids to Val¬ 
halla. 

And sometimes, too, the gifted ones among the 
Norsemen have had a glimpse of Aasgaard. Some 
holy priest or priestess with eyes strained toward 
the east has in the glories of a sunrise seen the 
sacred city. The clouds rolled back like a curtain. 
There it stood; its spires and minarets shimmering 
as in ancient times, its battlements rising from a 
sea of molten gold. But as the fortunate one 
looked, the clouds shifted and the vision faded. 
It had only been a glimpse. No mortal could 
ever hope to find again on earth that mysterious 
shining city. 10 

Aasgaard in the old Norse tongue is pronounced “Os-gor,” 
but modern English writers have written and pronounced it 
“Asgard.” This tale is based on the opening of Snorra’s 
Heimskringla which literally translated is: 

“The circle of the world ( heimskringlo ) on which people 
live is very much indented for great bays from the world-sea 



STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 45 


flow into the land. It is known that a sea flows in from 
Gibraltar as far as Jerusalem; from this sea a long body of 
water extends to the northeast, called the Black Sea. This 
separates the three world-divisions from each other; that to 
the east is called Asia, the land to the west is called Europe 
or Enea, but north is the great, cold Scythia.” 

Then comes the story of Odin, the Wonder-Prince. 

Written copies on parchment of Snorra’s great work were 
circulated throughout the Far North shortly after the author’s 
death (1241). A fine copy was kept in the library at Bergen 
for over three hundred years, when it was transferred to Copen¬ 
hagen. At this time it was noticed that the first page with 
the introduction was missing and as the second page began 
with the words “heimskringla” (meaning “circle of the 
world”), this copy became known as Heimskringla. Gradually 
all copies of the work were called by the same title until it 
became generally known as Heimskringla , although its real 
title as given by Snorra is The Saga of the Sons of Frey ( Yng - 
linga Saga). (See preceding story The Skald From Iceland.) 

The Copenhagen copy of the work was burned in the library 
fire of 1728, but one leaf had been taken to Stockholm and 
may still be seen in the royal library there. 

2 Snorra does not say definitely what were the deities wor¬ 
shiped at Aasgaard, but Gudmund Schiitte, a Danish expert in 
ancient lore, says: 

“What powers then, sat in the High Seat of the Gods? The 
answer can hardly be doubted,—first and foremost the powers 
of the high heaven. ... In the Bronze Age our fore¬ 
fathers learned to represent the Sun in artificial models which 
indicate a customary worship of that body. Most worthy of 
mention is the ‘Sun Car’ that was dug up in the Trundholm 
marsh on Zealand in 1902. Its style is Greek and could indi¬ 
cate an origin from the time ca. 1000 B. C., although it may 


46 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


also date from a somewhat later period. The Sun is shown 
as a round gold-covered disk, set on wheels and drawn by a 
bronze horse.”—From Hjemligt Hedenskab. 

The sun idol mentioned can still be seen in the National 
Museum of Copenhagen. It is in good condition, although 
reckoned to be at least twenty-four hundred years old, and 
gives one an idea what the Norsemen worshiped before they 
knew Odin as a god. 

3 The warrior maiden was honored by the Norsemen from 
the earliest times. When Odin was raised to the rank of a 
god, his following of virgin amazons were known as Valkyries 
—“choosers of the dead” ( val )—and brought the heroes who 
fell in battle to their liege lord. The Danish monk Saxo, 
Snorra’s contemporary—about 1200—does not seem to have 
approved of the heathen warrior maids of former times. He 
says in part: 

“That none may be surprised at the interest the weaker 
sex showed for war, I shall make a short digression to explain: 
In days of old there were women among the Danes who spent 
most of their time in developing warlike sports. They hard¬ 
ened body and soul and renounced the gentler feminine arts. 
It was especially strong-minded women or those with tall, 
slender figures that followed this life. Forgetting the con¬ 
ditions of their birth, they preferred harshness to gentle words, 
blows to caresses. Spears were in the fair hands; death was 
in their thoughts, and with sharp weapons they attacked the 
men they could have conquered with their charms. . . . 

Now I shall return to the main thread of my story.” 

In the Copenhagen National Museum, the actual dresses 
worn by Norse women in the Bronze Age (500 B. C. or 
earlier) are to be seen. That they are preserved in good con¬ 
dition seems to be due to the fact they lay in oak chests and 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 47 


acid from the wood has acted as a preservative. A belt-plate 
worn with the gown resembles a shield. 

4 Odin’s palace in Aasgaard was later known as Valhalla— 
the hall of the dead ( val )—and there, according to the Norse 
belief, all heroes that fell in battle would meet. It shone with 
gold, according to the sagas, and was of enormous proportions, 
with five hundred and forty doors through each of which eight 
hundred men could pass abreast. The beams of the hall were 
spears, the roof was made of shields. 

5 There seems to be a distinct touch of the East in this inci¬ 
dent in Snorra’s tale. Does it not suggest the Oriental custom 
of the blessing? 

6 Snorra calls the river where the Vana folk lived, Tanais 
and describes their home as being around the delta of this 
river by the Black Sea. In the Historical Atlas of Professor 
William R. Shepherd, of Columbia University, Tanais is 
shown as a Greek colony from 500 B. C. or earlier. Are the 
Norse god Frey and his sister, the goddess Freya, perhaps of 
Greek origin? 

7 Rome. 

8 “It was common belief that the soul of a person even while 
alive could travel freely about while the body lay in a trance. 
Sometimes the soul took its owner’s true form,—as a ‘mate¬ 
rialized spirit,’ to quote the language of spiritualists of to-day 
—but often or oftener the shape of an animal—an idea that 
is also found in ancient Greece and other lands. It is easily 
understood that the chosen animal shape often typified one of 
the owner’s traits.” Thus Gudmund Schiitte explains this 
popular old-time belief, showing how the nightmare and the 
werewolf were regarded as two such manifestations. Peo¬ 
ple who could not otherwise leave their bodies could some¬ 
times, just before death, visit in spirit their relatives or friends. 
Schiitte remarks, “Our so-called ‘enlightened age’ had until a 


48 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


few years ago dismissed this idea as pure superstition, but the 
most recent investigations have shown that the ‘superstition’ 
in this case went deeper than critical science: for it is an estab¬ 
lished fact that the dying can show themselves to their dear 
ones far away without being bound by so-called physical ties. 
lAmong all types of folk-belief this idea is one of the most 
persistent and with good reason. Heathen lore has scored a 
point here over critical science.” 

9 Skiold is pronounced Sholl. The leaders of this expedi¬ 
tion become the gods of Norse mythology: Frey is the god of 
prosperity and ancestor of the Norwegian kings; Tor (or Thor) 
is god of war; Balder is god of light; Heimdal, god of the rain¬ 
bow; Skiold is the divine ancestor of the Danish kings; Freya 
is the goddess of love, etc. 

10 This island, Fyn, is now a part of Denmark and the town 
of Odense is the most ancient seat of the worship of Odin, in 
Scandinavia. A medieval church now stands on the spot where 
Odin’s temple probably stood. All the main roads on the 
island lead to this spot. 

^Regarding Gefion, the “gift-maiden,” Gudmund Schiitte 
says: “Her position in the world of gods is somewhat uncer¬ 
tain. Snorra places her among the Aasa folk, but he also says 
that she had sons with a giant and these sons belong to a known 
group of water demon that in animal form bring lakes and 
streams forth from the grottos of earth. . . . Snorra dis¬ 

tinctly makes Gefion immigrate into the Northland from the 
south; she followed with Odin through Germany.” 

■^The wonders of Leidra have been sung not only in Scan¬ 
dinavia but in England. In the Anglo-Saxon Song of Beowulf 
the scene is laid at Leidra, and a fine drinking hall hung with 
deer horns is described which Gudmund Schiitte thinks must 
have been a temple. Leidra’s most famous king at that time 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 49 


(about 500 A. D.) was Rolf Krakka who figured in Snorra’s 
saga and the writings of the Danish monk, Saxo. 

Leidra had already lost its importance a thousand years 
ago when Roskilde, near by, became Denmark’s capital. A 
little village, Leire, now marks the spot, but there are great 
mounds near by and an impressive wood said to have been a 
sacred grove from the most ancient times, where an altar to 
Odin is still shown. 

13 On this island at Copenhagen, Gefion and her oxen are to¬ 
day commemorated by a large fountain where the warrior 
maiden is shown driving her plow, the water gushing from the 
furrow. 

The lake in Sweden is the beautiful Maelar where Stock¬ 
holm is now situated. 

14 Sweden’s university town, Upsala, now lies near the an¬ 
cient Upsala which is still marked by a number of great mounds, 
one of which is said to be Odin’s grave. The Danish monk, 
Saxo, in his Christian belief can not acknowledge Odin as the 
earlier Norsemen did. He says (about 1200 A. D.): 

“At that time there lived a man called Odin who over the 
whole of Europe was falsely considered a god. He lived most 
in Upsala, perhaps because the people there were particularly 
stupid or because the place had a beautiful situation. The 
kings of the Northland who considered him divine made an 
idol of gold in his likeness, adorned it with great bracelets and 
sent it to him in Byzantium.” 

Saxo describes Odin as making trips between the Northland 
and Byzantium where he says “the gods had their capital,” but 
he is careful to explain his use of the term “gods” by saying: 
“Of course they were more gods in name than real deities; 
we only call them that because our heathen forefathers did, not 
because they were gods.” 


50 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


Snorra also mentions that: “Odin had great estates in Tur¬ 
key.” 

15 Saxo, the Danish monk, evidently influenced by his reli¬ 
gious prejudices does not take as kindly a view of Frey as 
Snorra does, but Snorra’s idea is of course to present the whole 
line of Frey in the finest possible light. Saxo says: 

“Frey now established himself at Upsala as the Gods* vice¬ 
roy, where instead of conducting the sacrifices in the manner 
sanctioned by many hundred years, he introduced the sad and 
disgusting custom of human sacrifices.” 

16 The tremendous personality of Odin, the man, and the mean¬ 
ing of this personality for the Northland are confirmed by the 
way this tale is told by Snorra who, although he regards him 
from the standpoint of the Christian Middle Ages as a mortal 
endowed with magical powers, continually treats him as a 
divinity. The revulsion of the recent Christianized Middle 
Ages from the thought of Odin as divine, is shown is some of 
the later tales where Snorra describes a dethroned Odin, wan¬ 
dering around as a sort of troll. 

Later ages make a truer valuation of this unusual character. 
Thus Thomas Carlyle in his famous lecture on heroes (1841) 
makes Odin the theme of “The Hero as a Divinity” and says 
in part: 

“For the Norse people, the Man now named Odin, and 
Chief Norse God, was a Teacher, and Captain of soul and 
body; a Hero, of worth immeasurable; admiration for whom, 
transcending the known bounds, became adoration. Of Odin 
what history? Strange rather to reflect that he had a history! 
That this Odin in his wild Norse vesture was a man like us; 
with our sorrows, joys, with our limbs, features: and did such 
a work. ‘Wednesday’ men will say tomorrow; Odin’s day!” 

Carlyle is inclined to disagree with Snorra and the Danish 
Saxo in attempting to identify Odin’s life with known his- 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 51 


torical events. And regarding a later attempt in the same 
direction he says: “Torfaeus, learned and cautious, some cen¬ 
turies later, says that Odin came into Europe about the Year 
70 before Christ. Of all which, as grounded on mere uncer¬ 
tainties, found to be untenable now, I need say nothing. Far, 
very far beyond the Year 70! Odin’s date, adventures, figure 
and environment are sunk from us forever into unknown thou¬ 
sands of years.” 

But the modern Danish authority, Gudmund Schiitte, says: 

“When Christendom was already on the way toward under¬ 
mining the pillars of paganism in southern lands, a new pagan 
faith was just finding its way into the Northland, the belief in 
the Aasa deities. Not only is it the newest but the best known 
of our pagan faiths and the Eddas of the Icelanders have made 
it classical. Around the All-Father Odin, all the earlier deities 
as worshipped by the Norsemen must group themselves as 
moons, planets and fixed stars around the middle point of a 
solar system.” 


Ill 

THE WOLFS HEART 


Ingvald, the Wolf King Olaf of the Tree-Ax 

Granmar, a King in South Aasa, the Wolf Princess 
Sweden Hildegunn , a daughter of 

Yorvar, a knight Granmar 

Svipdag, a magician 

/^NCE a year the princes of Sweden came to the 
^ sacred city of Upsala to attend the mid-win¬ 
ter festival of Odin. The time was long past when 
all Sweden was under one king as in the days of 
Frey. But even though the country was divided 
into little kingdoms that were often at war with 
one another, all the rulers came with their fami¬ 
lies once a year to the ancient capital where a 
king of the line of Frey still held the throne. It 
was a very great occasion. 1 

While the princes were busy arranging for the 
ceremonies, their sons played in the temple garden. 

“Let us play soldier,” cried the six-year-old Ing¬ 
vald. “I shall be a general!” 

“I shall also be a general,” said one of his com¬ 
rades. 

“And I!” exclaimed a third. “Let us all be gen¬ 
erals and each pretend he has an army.” 

So they began marching back and forth, giving 
commands as they had heard their fathers do. 

52 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS S3 


Only one boy did not play; he was a quiet fellow 
named Granmar who did not care for war or 
battle. 

“Now,” cried Ingvald suddenly, “I am the 
greatest general and all must obey me” Ing- 
vald’s father was a direct descendant of the God 
Frey and as he ruled at Upsala, the other kings 
were in a way his guests. 

“I am quite as great a general as you!” answered 
one. 

“You can not be, for my father is greater than 
all your fathers,” replied Ingvald boastfully. 

“Let us fight and see!” called the other and gave 
Ingvald a blow on the cheek. 

As Ingvald was really not at all brave, he put 
his hands over his eyes and ran home crying. 
There he found his father’s wise man, Svipdag. 

“Oh,” sobbed the little boy, “I am so unhappy! 
We were playing soldier and I have been beaten 
because I am weaker than the others.” 

“That is a shame,” answered the wise man. “We 
shall see what can be done.” 

Now Svipdag knew arts of magic which the 
Aasa folk had brought with them from the East. 
The next day Ingvald saw him cooking something 
over an open fire. 

“What is that?” asked the little boy. 

“Something for a prince of the line of Frey to 
eat!” answered Svipdag. 


54 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


And he gave him a piece of meat which the boy 
ate. 

“My!” cried the child, “how strong I now feel. 
I am sure none of my comrades will beat me 
again.” 

Svipdag laughed. “They will never beat you 
again,” he repeated. 

What a change had come over Ingvald. He 
felt as powerful as a grown man and as hard as 
iron. But it was not only his body that was hard¬ 
ened; his soul was also changed. A cruel light 
came into his eyes and his smile was like the sneer 
of an animal baring its white teeth. What was 
the matter? The wicked old magician had given 
the boy a wolf’s heart to eat! 

It was many years before they met again—the 
little boys who had played soldier at the winter 
festival. But they did meet once more and it was 
at Upsala, where Ingvald, now a young man, was 
to take his father’s throne. An enormous 
hall was built for the coronation, and messengers 
were sent over all the land to invite the guests. 
In the hall were seven high seats for the seven 
princes—Ingvald’s former playmates—who now 
ruled in the different parts of Sweden. On the ap¬ 
pointed day they came, each prince with a throng 
of warriors, and all eager to see the famous “Hall 
of the Seven Princes,” as the new building was 
called. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 55 


When the enormous hall was filled—it covered 
almost as much ground as the rest of the city—it 
was noticed that one of the high seats was vacant. 
This was intended for Granmar, who years before 
had refused to play soldier with Ingvald and his 
comrades. Granmar was also now a prince with 
a little kingdom of his own, but he refused the 
invitation because he knew that Ingvald had eaten 
the wolf’s heart. Otherwise all the guests were 
present. 

At the foot of the highest throne sat Ingvald. 
A page brought him a handsome beaker filled with 
mead and he lifted it above his head to drink a 
toast. There was a breathless silence. The first 
drink taken by a new-made king was always fol¬ 
lowed by a vow and every one was anxious to hear 
what Ingvald’s vow would be. Imagine the sur¬ 
prise and consternation when the prince spoke as 
follows: 

“I swear,” cried Ingvald, “that I will extend my 
kingdom in every direction to double its present 
size. Otherwise I shall die!” Then he emptied 
the horn and ascended the throne. 

As all the assembled princes owned land near 
Ingvald’s kingdom, his vow was practically a chal¬ 
lenge to them. But what could they do about it? 
Ingvald had really not said anything definite 
against any one of them. Meanwhile the mead 
was being passed and the minstrels were playing 


56 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


and no one seemed inclined to press such a delicate 
matter further. And the evening went on. 

Late that night the company was still very 
merry. In fact Ingvald had given his guests such 
a mixture of intoxicating drinks that they did not 
notice that he had quietly left the party. The 
wicked old magician Svipdag came meanwhile, 
according to Ingvald’s orders, and stationed 
armed men all around the outside of the hall. 
These warriors bore not only arms but torches, 
and, Ingvald being safely out, they set the Hall of 
the Seven Princes on fire. 

Such a scene as followed! Those of the guests 
that escaped the flames were met by Ingvald’s 
soldiers who despatched them by the sword. Not 
one escaped, prince or warrior. 

Immediately following up this terrible wolfish 
act, the cruel Ingvald led his army into the lands 
belonging to his late guests and took possession of a 
large part of Sweden. Thus his vow taken at the 
banquet was fulfilled within a few days after it 
was made. 

But Prince Granmar continued to rule over his 
own realm in the south of Sweden. He was glad, 
you may be sure, that he had not gone to the feast 
of the seven princes. He had been living quietly 
in his palace where his main joy was his beautiful, 
young daughter Hildegunn. But after the whole¬ 
sale slaughter of his comrades, he was worried by 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 57 


the thought of the terrible Prince of the Wolf’s 
Heart. What would he do next? 

One day there came a rumor that a strange 
knight had landed on Granmar’s coast with a band 
of fighting men. Nobody knew whence they came 
or what their mission. 

“This is no doubt a trick of Ingvald,” thought 
Granmar. So he sent messengers to ask the knight 
why he had come. 

Granmar’s messengers were so well received 
that suspicion was partly dispelled, and shortly 
after the knight himself appeared at Granmar’s 
court where he was invited to dine. When all 
were assembled, the stranger on a high seat op¬ 
posite the royal throne, Granmar told his daugh¬ 
ter to fill the beakers of the guests. The fair 
Hildegunn took a silver horn and stood before the 
warrior. 

“Greetings, to our brave strange visitor,” she 
said. And after lifting the cup to her own lips, 
she passed it to the knight. The latter, charmed 
by her manner, took not only the cup, but her 
hand and asked her to take the place beside him. 

“It is not the Viking 2 custom for a woman to 
sit like that,” replied Hildegunn, blushing. 

“It is the custom in other lands,” answered the 
visitor. “Every knight should have his lady at the 
feast.” 

He finally persuaded her to sit beside him and 


58 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


as the meal proceeded, he told her many tales of 
strange countries far away. Hildegunn’s clear 
blue eyes were fixed on the animated face of her 
father’s guest. She had never heard such tales be¬ 
fore or seen such a splendid knight. He was not 
only entertaining, but noble and brave. 

“My name is Yorvar,” said the knight to Gran- 
mar, the next day. “And I come to ask for the 
hand of Hildegunn. On many seas and through 
many lands I have journeyed but have never be¬ 
fore met a maiden so charming. As your son- 
in-law, you will always find me ready to defend 
your cause and hers.” 

Granmar was no longer young and he had no 
son to succeed him; thus he looked with favor on 
such a worthy champion as a husband for his be¬ 
loved Hildegunn. Here was a leader who might 
long protect his little kingdom from the Wolf 
King at Upsala. Hildegunn had already lost her 
heart to this ardent wooer and it was therefore 
not long before the matter was arranged and the 
fair Hildegunn became Yorvar’s happy bride. 

Now, King Ingvald at Upsala had also a daugh¬ 
ter. She was called Aasa after the noble race of 
people from which the family sprung, but she 
lacked her family’s noble qualities. People even 
whispered that she had rather inherited the wolf 
nature of her father, for her handsome black eyes 
shone with a cold light, while her fine lips could 

























































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STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 59 


curve in the same cruel smile as his. Aasa was 
of a jealous nature and when she heard about the 
strange knight’s appearance and Hildegunn’s hap¬ 
py marriage, she gnashed her teeth with envy. No 
Stalwart mysterious stranger had come a-courting 
her! If he had, he would probably have been 
frightened by her cold gleaming eyes. 

“Why don’t you take the lands of King Gran- 
mar?” said Aasa to her father one day. “He will 
soon die any way and why should Yorvar, a 
stranger, inherit a kingdom in Sweden?” 

“A good idea, my daughter,” answered Ingvald. 
“We will advise Svipdag to arrange matters.” 
Ingvald always sent for the wicked magnician, 
when he had some especially evil plan in view. 

It was a big army that Ingvald and Svipdag led 
southward to capture Granmar’s lands, for now the 
wolf-hearted king had all the rest of Sweden from 
which to draw soldiers. But many of these came 
against their wills and they fought only for fear of 
the terrible Ingvald. The result was, that while 
Ingvald’s force was superior in numbers, Yorvar 
was able to inspire Granmar’s troops to resist the 
lawless invaders and victory fell to the smaller 
army. Ingvald, suffering from many wounds, fled 
to his ship, and his army was routed. The old 
magician who had originally caused all the trouble 
with the wolf’s heart, perished on the battle-field. 

The years went by. Hildegunn and her knight 


60 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


lived happily in the palace of King Granmar. 
The wolf-hearted prince still sat in power at Up- 
sala, for the peaceful Granmar had not cared to 
follow up his victory with an attack on his enemy’s 
capital. And Aasa, the Wolf Princess, sat alone 
in the house of her father and envied the happiness 
of Hildegunn. 

Again came the daughter of the Wolf King to 
her father. 

“Alas,” she cried, “the feud between Your 
Majesty and King Granmar has lasted too long. 
Let there be a peace declared, a peace sanctified 
by the holiest ceremonials; let us welcome Gran¬ 
mar and his people to Upsala once more, as in the 
good old days.” 

Now wise men had come into the council of 
Ingvald after the death of the wicked Svipdag and 
they strongly seconded the proposal of Princess 
Aasa. The wise men of King Granmar also ad¬ 
vised a peace, as did the knight Yorvar, and Hilde¬ 
gunn rejoiced at the idea. Every one in Sweden 
was weary of the strife and wanted a return to 
days of trust and confidence, as in the time of Frey. 

But Granmar was heavy at heart. He had rea¬ 
son to fear any proposal from Ingvald. The popu¬ 
lar sentiment and his daughter’s prayers, however, 
finally persuaded him. Great was the jubilation 
the land over when King Granmar with the 
knight Yorvar and Hildegunn came to Upsala to 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 61 


bind the peace with the holiest of ceremonies. 
Yes, the two rulers, Ingvald and Granmar, pledged 
each other in the most sacred manner; the feud 
was ended,—neither could break the Great Peace 
without incurring the most terrible wrath of the 
gods. 

Visitors in Upsala always sought the priestesses 
to have their fortunes read in the runes. 3 

“Let us see what the Fates have in store for me” 
cried the fair Hildegunn. The priestess arranged 
the sticks, but when they fell she shook her head. 
There was bad luck in the combination of the 
runes. 

“Come,” cried Yorvar, “let me try. I am sure 
to have good luck and all I find will be shared with 
my lady Hildegunn.” 

But the sticks were no more kind to the warrior 
than they had been to the princess. 

“You try, father,” urged Hildegunn to Gran¬ 
mar. “Surely one of us three should be able to 
stand in fortune’s good graces.” 

But when the sticks fell this time, even the 
priestess frowned. For a moment she was silent; 
then she spoke: 

“Death,” she read slowly from the runes, “sud¬ 
den—violent!” 

These prophecies filled the men with forebod¬ 
ings which Hildegunn tried in vain to dispel. 
They decided to leave Upsala at once, but before 


62 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


returning home they paid a visit to a nobleman 
living on a near-by island. The nobleman was a 
tried and trusted friend and Granmar came to 
him without a large following. For under the 
great peace it was agreed to keep smaller armies 
and every one knew that not even such a person 
as Ingvald would dare to violate the holy com¬ 
pact. 

But Ingvald had long since ceased to be a per¬ 
son. The wolf heart had so grown in him that 
he had become less a man and more a bloodthirsty 
beast. Aasa, his daughter, was also mad with 
jealousy when she saw the happy pair in Upsala. 
In fact she had suggested the great peace only that 
Yorvar and Hildegunn might be destroyed. 

Late one night came Ingvald and Aasa to the 
lonely island where Granmar was a guest. All 
was quiet. The newly-arrived company sat at din¬ 
ner with the nobleman’s household. Suddenly 
they looked out and marked a lurid blaze against 
the black of the night. What was it? 

The crackling of burning timber was the only 
answer. The house was on fire! 

As the flames burned more fiercely, they lighted 
up the courtyard and there the affrighted company 
could see a row of armored figures. The place 
was completely surrounded by armed assassins in 
the pay of the Wolf Prince. 

Thus perished the good King Granmar, the fair 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 63 


Hildegunn and her gallant knight on one funeral 
pyre. The prophecy of the rune sticks was ful¬ 
filled. But the wolf fiends, Ingvald and, Aasa, did 
not have long to gloat over their victims. 

When the people in Sweden heard that the 
sacred peace had been broken, a wave of horror 
spread from one end of the land to the other. An 
army of Granmar’s faithful subjects set out for 
Upsala to demand that Prince Ingvald be deliv¬ 
ered up to justice. As the army marched north¬ 
ward, it grew and grew. Even the people of Up¬ 
sala welcomed with joy this chance to punish two 
human monsters who had caused so much misery. 

Ingvald and Aasa sat at dinner in their palace 
when the news reached them that the whole of 
Sweden had risen. They had carried their tyranny 
too far. But where could they fly? Whom could 
they trust? Like two wolves that had terrorized a 
community, they stood at bay, waiting for the final 
struggle with those who came out to hunt them. 

Ingvald and Aasa took council. There was one 
way out. 

“Let us feast!” cried the prince. “Let the best 
in the house be brought forward.” 

“Let us drink!” cried the princess, and all the 
finest wines were brought from the cellars. 

Such a festival had not been seen since Ingvald’s 
coronation in the Hall of the Seven Princes. The 
murderers who had surrounded the house where 


64 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


Granmar and Hildegunn were burned, drank and 
caroused and sang wild songs in praise of their 
wolf-hearted ruler. The feast became an orgy. 
There was more wine and more wine. Ingvald’s 
retainers fell over one another and lay in drunken 
stupor through the halls. 

Then the last scene! The cruel Ingvald and 
the haughty Aasa stand hand in hand in the center 
of the wild bacchanal. They are Vikings both, 
and their courage, coldness and cruelty have been 
increased a hundredfold by the influence of the 
wolf’s heart. The king takes a torch from its niche 
in the wall and touches it to one of the rafters. 
The wood takes fire. In a fierce exaltation the 
father and daughter stand motionless as the flames 
leap along the roof and lick their way down the 
walls. 

The approaching army see the conflagration. It 
is as though all Upsala had burst into flame. They 
hasten through the streets where there is a fiercer 
light than the light of noon in midsummer. Now 
they will seize their victims, the wicked wolf- 
people^and bring them to justice! 

They come too late. Ingvald has lighted his 
own funeral pyre and he and Aasa, the Wolf 
Princess, have perished in the mighty conflagra¬ 
tion. 

Now Ingvald’s son Olaf had not inherited the 
wolf nature of his father, but the people would 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 65 


have none of him and he was forced to flee with 
a few friends. He traveled west into sparsely- 
inhabited wilds, hewing trees to make room for 
new settlements until he became known as Olaf 
of the Tree-Ax. His sons, bold hardy pioneers, 
went farther west. Thus the royal line of Frey, 
that had ruled so many years at Upsala, came final¬ 
ly to Norway. 


*The pagan festival to celebrate the return of the sun. It 
is a coincidence that Christ’s birthday came to be celebrated 
at about the same time as the heathen festival—just when the 
days begin to lengthen * In many ways it seems that the early 
Christians, in introducing new customs, tried to make them 
coincide as nearly as possible with the old. 

2 The people of the Northland had gradually come by the 
name “Viking.” They always had shown their preference for 
settling at the end of a fiord or bay and they seem to have 
taken the term from vik , the Norse word meaning bay or inlet. 
The wisdom of making such settlements at a time when life 
was so insecure is most evident. These inlets were often diffi¬ 
cult to find and fleets with hostile intent could easily lose their 
way in trying to make an attack, while the Vikings, familiar 
with the intricate passages, had a great advantage. The an¬ 
cient cities of Leidra and Odense (see previous story) were 
originally each at the end of a fiord difficult of access, but the 
sites now lie several miles inland. In those days a city like 
Copenhagen or Stockholm (founded in the twelfth and thir¬ 
teenth centuries), lying out to the open sea, would have been 
constantly in danger. With a change in conditions, however, 
most of the older cities of Norse culture lost their importance. 

3 “In the most ancient heathen times, there was much super- 



66 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


stition connected with the runes. It was thought they could 
be used for tricks of magic and to produce supernatural effects 
where they were carved. ‘Strong Runes’ are mentioned, whose 
secret strength could weaken the enemy’s weapon, cause or ap¬ 
pease storm and bad weather, put out fire, change people into 
other shapes, give foresight and summon spirits. ‘Victory 
Runes’ were carved on a sword-hilt or belt to bring victory in 
battle. With ‘Love Runes’ it was thought that one could win 
affection. By scratching on the finger-nail the Rune ‘N’ mean¬ 
ing ‘Naud’ (that is, Need) it was thought a woman’s faith¬ 
fulness and affection could be secured. All such runes must, 
however, be carefully used, as a misuse could cause sickness and 
death.” From A. Fabricius’ History of Denmark. 

Snorra intimates that a great deal of the magic used by Odin, 
the Wonder-Prince, in leading his people from Aasgaard to 
the Far North was accomplished by means of runes, which he 
discovered. The Icelandic Havamal makes Odin describe the 
tortures he underwent to discover the runes, as follows: (The 
Havamal is a collection of Icelandic rules and proverbs sup¬ 
posed to date back to Odin himself.) 

“I know that I hung on the windy tree nine nights together, 
wounded by a spear, sacrificed to Odin, myself to myself, on 
the tree which no one knows from what roots it springs. 
Neither with food nor with drink was I refreshed. I looked 
carefully down and raised up the runes; crying I raised them 
up, and fell, then, down.” 

“Runic inscriptions have been found wherever Germanic 
peoples have dwelt, but they are especially numerous in the 
Scandinavian countries and in Great Britain. The runic in¬ 
scriptions on stone are by far the most important, and these 
are found principally in the Scandinavian countries. One hun¬ 
dred inscriptions in the older runic alphabet, from 300 to 700 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 67 


A. D. are found in Denmark, Norway and Sweden, some of 
which are of great length. 

“The Norwegian scholar Sophus Bugge advanced the opinion 
that they originated among the Goths, in the region north of 
the Black Sea, an idea which gained further support through 
the investigations of the Swedish archaeologist, Bernhard Salin. 
He showed that the runes must have been brought to the North 
along the old routes of intercourse between the Black Sea and 
the Baltic, known to have existed even in the Bronze Age, as 
they first made their appearance in those regions. 

“Of the twenty-four runes in the older runic alphabet, fif¬ 
teen are surely derived from the Greek alphabet and five more 
are, presumably, traceable to the same source. Only four are 
derived from the Latin alphabet. . . . The first six char¬ 

acters from the word futhark which is often used instead of 
the word alphabet to designate the system of runic letters. 
. . . The change in the form of the letters was occa¬ 

sioned by the fact that the runes were carved on wood or 
cut in stone or metal, which made the use of the angle and 
straight line much more convenient than the curve or circle. 

“The runic alphabet common to all 
Germanic peoples, was replaced in the 
North by the younger runic alphabet 
of sixteen characters about the year 
850. This system is developed from 
the older runic alphabet and has been 
used exclusively in the Scandinavian 
countries.” From Doctor Knut 
Gjerset’s History of the Norwegian 
People. 

The later futhark was as shown,— 
standing for f, u, th, a, r, k, h, n, i, a, s, t or d, p or b, 1, m, 

r (y). 


rimr 

f u th q r k 

nm 

h n i a s 

nm 

t b l m R 



68 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


“Writing by Runes has some air of being original among the 
Norsemen; not a Phoenician Alphabet, but a native Scandina¬ 
vian one,” says Carlyle in his famous Lecture on Heroes. 
“Snorra tells us farther that Odin invented Poetry; the music 
of human speech, as well as that miraculous runic marking 
of it. 

“Suppose Odin to have been the inventor of Letters, as well 
as ‘magic’ among the people! It is the greatest invention man 
has ever made, this of marking-down the unseen thought that 
is in him by written characters. It is a kind of second speech, 
almost as miraculous as the first. If Odin brought Letters 
among his people, he might work magic enough!” 


IV 

QUEEN RAGNHILD’S DREAM TREE 


King Half dan the Black 
Prince Harald 
Torleif, the wise man 


A Magician from Finland 
Queen Ragnhild 1 


Place: A little kingdom in southern Norway . 2 

Q UEEN RAGNHILD’S garden was a bower 
of delights, but its beauties were hidden from 
the eyes of ordinary mortals by a high wall. 
Through the gate, one had glimpses of walks lined 
with box hedges, of avenues of stately trees, of a 
fountain throwing delicate sprays to the wind, of 
enchanting grottoes and retreats. Ivy clung in 
the niches of the time-worn wall and over the top 
clambered scape-grace roses trying to hide Time’s 
scars with a pink-and-white tapestry of bloom. 

It was an evening in late summer that Queen 
Ragnhild walked in her garden. The white nights 
of the Far North were waning, but a crescent moon 
like a sickle of ivory shone in the sky and its beams 
fell on the queen’s hair, pale and shining as the 
moon itself. 

The queen strolled up and down the walks 
where the roses grew. There were thousands of 
roses—royal blossoms, as countless as the pale 
stars that spangled the heavens. There were white 
flowers and yellow and red, wax-like, drooping 

69 


70 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


their heads as though heavy with slumber,—and 
scentless as the roses of Norway are. Other flow¬ 
ers, however, exhaled a grateful odor to the night, 
and the queen as she strolled breathed in their 
fragrance. 

On such a beautiful night even the gods in the 
heavenly Aasgaard might wish themselves back on 
earth. The haze of late summer that lingered 
near the earth seemed to imprison and intensify 
the fragrance of the garden. Queen Ragnhild 
became drowsy with the scent and the beauty of it. 

“When the goddess Freya passes to-night,” she 
sighed, “I feel she will send me a dream.” 

Soon after, the queen retired. 

Into her chamber on the wings of the soft moon¬ 
light sped a silvery vision. A thousand years 
later men and women were still talking of Queen 
Ragnhild’s wonderful dream: 

The queen thought that she still strolled in her 
garden, down the walk where the slumbering 
roses hung their heavy heads. Suddenly she 
stopped. A thorn had caught her gown. She re¬ 
moved the thorn and as she held it in her hand it 
began to grow. 

It grew and grew until it became a tree. One 
end attached itself to the ground and immediately 
roots spread out to hold it. The other end reached 
high into the air. Then the tree became so big 
that the royal lady couldn’t see over its top. Its 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 71 


roots were red as blood while the trunk was a 
shimmering green and the branches toward the top 
were as white as snow. There were many twigs on 
the tree; some higher up, some lower down. Some 
of the branches were so long that they reached to 
the very end of Norway and even beyond. The 
next morning, Queen Ragnhild met her husband 
with a glowing countenance. 

“Only think,” she cried, “the goddess Freya sent 
me a dream last night from Aasgaard!” And she 
told him of the wonderful thorn tree. 

King Halfdan never was blessed or troubled 
with dreams and he thought it strange that his 
wife so often had interesting things to tell him in 
the morning, when all he could say was, “I slept 
very well, thank you.” He wished he might have 
at least one dream. So he summoned his wise 
man, Torleif, and asked what could be done. 

“When one really wishes to dream,” answered 
Torleif, “one should sleep in the pig-sty. I al¬ 
ways experience something unusual when I sleep 
there. Sometimes I dream about future events 
and they are sure to happen according to the 
dream.” 

“I shall try that myself,” answered King Half- 
dan, and that night he slept in the pig-sty. 

When the king awoke the next morning he 
found that he had finally had the dream he had 
waited and wished for. At breakfast the queen 


72 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


asked him how he had slept, and instead of having 
to say, “Very well, thank you,” he could reply: 

“I slept very badly, Your Majesty, but I have 
had a most unusual dream.” 

“Do tell me what it was about!” cried the queen, 
much interested. So King Halfdan called his wise 
man that he might also hear, and spoke as follows: 

“I was not long asleep, when I thought that 
my hair began to grow. It grew and grew until it 
was thicker and longer than hair could ever be. 
But the locks were of different lengths. Some of 
them reached to the ground, others to my calves, 
others to my knees, others to my hips, and others 
to my waist. Some were only as long as to my 
throat and still others lay in knots on my head. 
But there was a still stranger thing about this 
growth of hair. Some of the locks were of one 
color and some of another. One strand was par¬ 
ticularly noticeable, being thicker, glossier and 
more beautiful than the others. Now what do you 
suppose such a dream could mean?” 

“It sounds something like my dream about the 
tree,” put in the queen. 

Now the wise man had not yet given his inter¬ 
pretation of Queen Ragnhild’s dream. 

“Well,” said the wise man, apparently not notic¬ 
ing the queen’s remark, “I think your dream may 
be read like this. The different locks are the dif¬ 
ferent people that shall spring from you. Like 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 73 


the locks, your descendants will grow and prosper; 
they will bring honor to your house. But all will 
not be equally great; some will only rule over a 
little territory, while others will be great chief¬ 
tains and princes. That is why the locks in your 
dream were of different lengths and colors. As for 
the heavy, shining, beautiful strand, that means 
there will come one among your descendants, 
greater and nobler than all the others. His name 
shall be Olaf.” 

King Halfdan was naturally delighted at this in¬ 
terpretation of his dream. But Queen Ragnhild 
sighed. She had hoped that the shining beautiful 
strand might have meant their son, her favorite. 
But his name was Harald and not Olaf. It was 
evident that it would be a long time before there 
could be a great prince of her race called Olaf and 
so she would probably never see the fulfillment of 
the dream. In the meantime she did not dare ask 
Torleif to interpret the dream she had had. 

But the little prince Harald was no unworthy 
son of his strong father and his lovely mother. 
Nor was he unworthy of the great race from which 
his father was sprung, for his father’s ancestors 
had come over the mountains from Sweden where 
their fathers had ruled in the great city of Upsala, 
children of the god Frey himself. Though only 
a little child, Harald had the noble bearing and 
the fine expression that one would expect to find 


74 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


in the representative of such a royal race. His 
blue eyes were clear and true, he was the picture 
of health, and his hair was like spun gold. Day 
by day Queen Ragnhild watched the boy as he 
grew in strength and promise. But there was a 
sorrow in her heart, for King Halfdan did not love 
their son as she did. 

One Yuletide 3 King Halfdan gave a party to 
which he invited many great people, not only from 
his own realm but from other of the little king¬ 
doms of Norway. When the company came into 
the banquet hall, the king gazed at the tables and 
could hardly believe his eyes. All the delicious 
dishes his cooks had prepared had disappeared! 
Nothing was left, not even the plates. The com¬ 
pany at first thought it was a joke, but when a 
search was made and no trace of the food could 
be found, they began to realize that the loss of a 
dinner was no joke after all. 

King Halfdan shouted and commanded and 
fumed, but all his efforts did not bring the dinner 
back. The guests grew hungrier and hungrier un¬ 
til one by one they began to remember that they 
had important engagements elsewhere. So this 
one went with this excuse and that one with an¬ 
other and finally King Halfdan was left seated at 
the head of his long, empty banquet table. 

‘What has become of my feast?” thundered 
King Halfdan, his black eyes flashing. Queen 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 75 

Ragnhild ran in haste to call Torleif, the wise 
man. 

“Do you remember that Finn to whom you re¬ 
cently gave shelter?” answered Torleif. “All 
Finns are versed in the Black Art, so why don’t 
you ask him about it?” 

“Bring in that fellow from Finland!” command¬ 
ed the king, and in a few moments the Finn stood 
before him. 

“What has become of my feast?” roared King 
Halfdan. “If you are a magician you ought to be 
able to tell me.” 

“Indeed, I don’t know, Your Majesty,” pro¬ 
tested the Finn, cringing and turning away. 

“Nothing like this ever happened before you 
came here,” answered the king. “I believe it is 
you yourself who has bewitched my banquet, and 
made me the laughing-stock for my neighbors. 
Whip this man,” he added angrily. “We shall see 
if he can’t remember how my feast came to dis¬ 
appear.” 

In Viking times, a king could of course judge 
and punish offenders at his little court. But in 
his anger Halfdan was about to punish a man be¬ 
fore he was really judged guilty. The ten-year- 
old Prince Harald watched the slave wield the 
whip over the shoulders of the trembling man. 

“Father,” cried the lad, “don’t whip this man!” 

“What does this mean?” exclaimed the king. 


76 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


“Does a son of mine pretend to defend a magician 
who has tricked me?” 

“But you do not know that he stole the food,” 
protested the boy. “He says he didn’t take it.” 

“I will hear nothing more from you,” cried the 
king angrily. “Take care that you yourself don’t 
deserve a whipping.” 

Harald was a true son of his father in spirit. 
His face became white with anger, but he clenched 
his fists and said nothing further. The punishment 
of the Finn proceeded, but when he would reveal 
nothing, he was bound and thrown into a wretched 
outhouse to spend the night. As the night waned, 
the Finn heard a noise in the room. He tried to 
rise, for he thought perhaps the king had sent 
some one to kill him. 

“I have come to help you,” whispered a voice, 
and the Finn felt a hand, the hand of the little 
prince, on his shoulder. “Now you must fly!” said 
the boy as he helped the Finn loosen his bonds. 
“But you must take me with you, as I will no 
longer stay at home with my cruel father.” 

There was consternation in the household of 
King Halfdan the next morning, for not only had 
the Finnish magician disappeared, but the king’s 
own son was missing. 

“It is more of his cursed enchantment!” cried 
the king, raging. But Queen Ragnhild sent out 
searching parties to see if some trace of her son 



“I have come to help you," whispered a voice. 








































STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


77 


could be found. When they returned without 
news of the lost boy, she wept silently in her cham¬ 
ber. Her blue-eyed, fair-haired son was her great¬ 
est joy in life and she had hoped great things for 
him. 

The prince and the magician, disguised as ordi¬ 
nary wayfarers, traveled through the land until 
finally they came to the house of a chieftain who 
was expecting a number of guests for a house 
party. There was need for help in the prepara¬ 
tions and the two strangers found ready employ¬ 
ment. Here they made friends and became a part 
of the lord’s household without revealing their 
identities. Thus the winter passed and the spring 
came. 

One day the magician called Prince Harald to 
him. 

“My boy,” said he, laying his hand on the little 
fellow’s head, “you did me a good turn. I could 
not repay you before, nor could I well tell you the 
truth, for it was I, after all, who took the food 
from your father’s table. Now your father is dead. 
And I prophesy great things for you. May you 
live long as his heir—and not only that, but as 
king over the whole land of Norway, where no 
king has ever reigned before. To-day you must 
return to inherit your kingdom!” 

The young lad heard the magician’s words with 
mingled feelings. He regretted his attitude to- 


78 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


ward his father and was both angry at the Finn 
for his deceit and grateful for his glowing prom¬ 
ises. But most of all was he glad to be able to 
return to his noble mother, Queen Ragnhiid, and 
the kingdom that awaited him. 

King Halfdan with a company of retainers had 
driven across the ice to visit friends on the other 
side of the fiord. The spring had loosened the ice 
and when the company drove near a water-hole 
where the cattle always came to drink, the surface 
gave way. One sleigh followed the other into the 
dark chasm that yawned before them. So per¬ 
ished King Halfdan. 

Terrible as this catastrophe was for Queen 
Ragnhiid, her sorrow was softened by the return 
of her son. The little lost prince found the warm¬ 
est of welcomes in his mother’s arms. 

When the family attempted to arrange for the 
funeral of King Halfdan, great difficulties arose. 
The body was about to be buried when a promi¬ 
nent earl requested that the king be buried on his 
estate. While he was discussing the matter with 
Ragnhiid, another earl called to say that he 
thought the king should be buried on his estate. 
While they were disputing the question, came a 
third earl who said that wherever such a wise king 
was buried, the crops were sure to be good, so he 
very much wished that Halfdan be buried on his 
estate. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 79 


“What shall be done?” cried Ragnhild dis¬ 
tressed. “Halfdan can be buried in only one place, 
but if I offend any of these earls, they will surely 
cause trouble for my son Harald, and the kingdom 
may go to pieces.” 

So she called Torleif, the wise man, and asked 
his advice. Torleif considered the matter at 
length and then said: 

“When you say that none of the earls must be 
offended, you are right. But it is not true that 
Halfdan can be buried in only one place. His 
body can be divided into three parts, and one part 
given to each of the earls. Meanwhile the royal 
head may be interred in the family burial place, as 
was intended.” 

The idea was not exactly a pleasant one, but 
Queen Ragnhild was a clever woman and saw that 
it was the only thing to do. And that is the rea¬ 
son King Halfdan was given four graves, and the 
three earls pledged to support the little prince in 
his claims to his father’s throne. 

But there were other chieftains outside the king¬ 
dom who no sooner learned of the death of the 
strong Halfdan than they resolved to take some 
of his land. Armies were sent against the little 
state and Queen Ragnhild trembled for her son. 
The earls, however, stood by the young prince and 
the would-be invaders were driven back. But 
Ragnhild was still anxious. There were many 


80 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


years yet before her boy would be of age and until 
then he could not formally be declared king. In 
the meantime the dangers were untold. 

Ragnhild thought of the dream King Half dan 
had once had and of Torleif s prophecy that a great 
man named Olaf would come of their race and 
conquer all enemies. If Harald’s name had only 
been Olaf! But what of her own dream about the 
mysterious tree—the dream that she had never 
dared ask Torleif to interpret? At once she called 
the wise man to her. 

“You remember, Torleif,” said she, “that I once 
had a very strange dream. A tree grew in my 
garden with roots as red as blood, with a trunk of a 
beautiful green and a top as white as snow. There 
were many twigs on the tree—all of different 
lengths and some of the branches stretched to the 
end of Norway and beyond. You never told me 
the meaning of my dream. Perhaps you can do so 
now?” 

“You did not ask me, Your Majesty,” answered 
Torleif, “but my idea of its meaning is this: 
The tree indicates the realm of your son, Prince 
Harald, who shall become a mighty man. The 
blood-red roots of the tree indicate the royal line 
from which he sprang—back to the great god 
Frey himself. The tree is green—the kingdom 
prospers. The twigs and branches are your son’s 
offspring—many of them mighty men. These cor- 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 81 


respond to the locks of hair of which the king once 
dreamed. The white tree top indicates that Harald 
will live to a ripe old age and enjoy the fruit of 
his labors. Long live the great kingdom of our 
future King Harald—Ragnhild’s son!” 

Then Queen Ragnhild was happy, for she felt 
that in spite of all the present difficulties, her 
sturdy little prince would some day become a 
great king on a secure throne. 

1 Ragnhild is pronounced Ran-hild. 

2 The son of Ingvald of the Wolf’s Heart (see preceding 
story) was forced to leave Sweden because of his father’s mis¬ 
deeds and came to Norway, where his descendants founded this 
little kingdom. King Halfdan is the direct descendant in male 
line, the sixth generation from Ingvald, according to Snorra, 
and thus from the God Frey, himself. 

3 Yuletide in those days was a heathen festival. 



V 

WHY HARALD WOULD NOT CUT HIS 
HAIR 

Prince Harold Queen Ragnhild 

Ragnvald, Earl of Mora Gyda, a chieftain’s daughter 

Walking Rolf, Ragnvald’s Son Hild, Ragnvald’s wife 

| Chieftains 
Rollaug J 

Place: Norway; especially on the Hafs Fiord, near 

Stavanger. 

A T the home of a wealthy peasant in Valders 
lived Gyda, the tall, the beautiful, the 
haughty. The young Prince Harald saw the fair 
Gyda and marked her queenly mien. 

“That is no ordinary peasant girl,” remarked 
the prince as he stood gazing after her. 

“No,” said his companion, “Gyda is the daugh¬ 
ter of a chieftain. She is only living with this 
peasant that she may learn the arts of housekeeping 
from his industrious wife.” 1 

“She is beautiful^” mused the Prince as he con¬ 
tinued to gaze. 

“She is also said to be good and intelligent,” an¬ 
swered the other. “But very haughty, too, and 
has already sent a number of high-born suitors 
about their business.” 

Prince Harald made further inquiries about the 
young lady and before long was presented at the 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 83 


peasant’s house to the damsel herself. He found 
her to be all that his companion had said—and 
more. She was not only beautiful, she was charm¬ 
ing. And although she was haughty, yet was she 
modest. Of high birth, she possessed a simple and 
natural dignity. 

Prince Harald came to his mother in a glow 
of youthful enthusiasm. “I have found the maid 
after my heart!” he exclaimed. “I have just come 
into my kingdom. In what better way could I 
celebrate the beginning of my career than my mar¬ 
rying a clever beautiful girl of noble birth?” 

“Quite right,” answered Queen Ragnhild, “pro¬ 
vided she will accept you.” 

“Accept me?” repeated Harald, surprised. “A 
prince of Frey’s royal blood is surely good enough 
for any Gyda, however fine she may be. My rec¬ 
ord is clean and I have always had my people’s 
welfare at heart.” 

Queen Ragnhild was a woman of experience and 
insight. She also knew something about Gyda. 
So she only smiled and said: “We shall see.” 

Soon after, three messengers were sent to Gyda 
with a proposal of marriage from Prince Harald. 
The messengers were received with the greatest 
politeness, but when they explained their mission, 
Gyda gazed at them in astonishment. 

“Do you think I would give myself to a man 
Who rules over only a few little districts?” she 


84 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


asked. “Why isn’t there one king over Norway, 
as there is one king over Sweden and one over Den¬ 
mark? To such a one I would gladly give my 
hand!” 

“You are very daring,” answered one of the mes¬ 
sengers. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean,” replied Gyda, “that it grieves me to 
see this land divided among small rulers who do 
nothing but quarrel with one another. The great 
King Gorm united all Denmark and made it a 
nation. Would the gods might send such a one to 
help poor Norway!” 

“You will not accept our prince’s offer, then?” 
said the second messenger. 

Gyda made no answer. 

“You have no further message for Prince 
Harald?” asked the third. 

Gyda shook her head, and the messengers de¬ 
parted. But when they had come out upon the 
road, Gyda followed after them and said, more 
gently: 

“You may take this word to your king. I shall 
indeed be glad to be his wife, but first he must unite 
all Norway as one nation.” 

The messengers were very angry at the failure 
of their mission, and Prince Harald could hardly 
believe it true. Then they repeated Gyda’s words. 
These astonished him even more than her refusal 
and he stood long and pondered. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 85 


“The woman is insolent,” said one of the mes¬ 
sengers. “If you give the word, we will return 
and take her by force.” 

“No!” cried Harald. “By all means, no! This 
girl should have thanks not dishonor for her words. 
And now I take this oath: Let the Power who 
shaped me and rules over all, be witness that never 
will I cut or comb my hair until Norway is united 
under my hand. When this is done, I will come 
again for Gyda.” 

“Bravely said!” approved his mother, Queen 
Ragnhild. 

It was not long before the young king was given 
a chance to begin the work he had pledged to do. 
Knowing that he was inexperienced, a number of 
neighboring chieftains had already tried in vain 
to take some of his lands, but now the powerful 
earls of Mora began assembling an army against 
him. Harald had made wise laws and had kept 
the peace wherever he ruled and his subjects were 
more than ready to help against foreign invaders. 
Therefore he led a confident army out to meet the 
forces of Mora, and the leading earls were slain 
and their armies routed. Harald followed the 
fleeing hosts into their own country and occupied 
their lands. But he did not punish the people. 
Instead he brought peace and order, and all who 
were willing to obey him were treated as his own 
beloved subjects. 


86 STORIES OF THE VIKlNGS 


Ragnvald 2 was the name of the son of one of the 
earls of Mora. His wife was Hild and their young 
son was Rolf. Ragnvald came to Harald’s tent 
and asked for an interview. 

“I come,” said Ragnvald, “to beg for mercy 
from a great and just king. If you will have me 
as your follower, I will be true to you and die 
rather than desert your cause.” 

Harald was so impressed by Ragnvald’s fine 
presence and his straightforward speech that he 
made him one of his knights, and later governor of 
Mora. Ragnvald brought many others to help 
his king and they built ships to defend the coasts 
of Norway from pirate raids. 

The more beloved Harald became, the more the 
other kings of Norway feared him. Jealous and 
warlike neighbors they proved to be and the mo¬ 
ment they could disturb the peace or hatch a plot 
against the fair-haired Harald, they did so. But 
whenever he defeated any of these enemies, Harald 
moved into their territory, and it was never long 
before the people of the land were glad that Har¬ 
ald had come. 

Herlaug and Rollaug were brother chieftains 
who ruled a large province near Harald’s king¬ 
dom. Most chieftains in those days did little else 
than make war on one another, but Herlaug and 
Rollaug were exceptions, for they were chiefly oc¬ 
cupied in building a pyramid. Three summers 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 87 


they had been working thus with stone, plaster and 
timber, when one day they had a terrible fright 
for they heard that King Harald was in the neigh¬ 
borhood and they thought he had come to kill 
them. Herlaug was so frightened that he brought 
quantities of food and drink into the pyramid, in¬ 
vited eleven trusted men to come there with him, 
and walled it up from the inside. Thus they were 
buried alive. But Rollaug arranged a throne on a 
hill with pillows on the steps. Then he went him¬ 
self to where Harald was staying and invited him 
to come to the hill. 

“Mount that throne, oh, Ring,” said Rollaug to 
Harald. “You shall be ruler here. I am only 
worthy to sit at your feet and serve the most noble 
of Frey’s descendants.” 

But Harald took a sword and fastened it to 
Rollaug’s belt and hung a shield around his neck. 

“Be my earl,” said Harald. “You yourself must 
sit on this throne and see that my laws of peace 
and justice are obeyed.” 

Thus Rollaug became ruler over all the land 
he had before shared with his brother. King 
Harald bound several chiefs to him by similar 
treatment, and as earls in his growing kingdom 
they were much greater than they had been as little 
sovereigns. 

But there were others again that continued to 
plot Harald’s downfall. When beaten by King 


88 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


Harald and driven from their lands, they went into 
new districts to stir up trouble. Finally all the mal¬ 
contents in Norway outside Harald’s kingdom 
banded together against him, for once agreeing 
on one subject—that he must be got out of the 
way. 

It was really a mighty army that these little 
kings collected against the great one. They came 
sailing into the Hafs Fiord with their Viking ships 
in fighting trim, and there they found King Harald 
awaiting them. It was a long and hard fight. 
Many of the enemy were brave and warlike men 
and they were fighting for their existence, for they 
knew that if they lost they would have to leave 
Norway forever. But Harald had all his people 
combined in one united force, resolved that their 
leader and his cause should win. The young king 
dominated them both in spirit and body. He was 
always an outstanding figure where the fight was 
thickest, encouraging his men forward. 

The bards have been singing the glories of that 
battle for a thousand years and every child in 
Norway knows the details of the fight at the Hafs 
Fiord; how the most valiant of the enemy worked 
their way close up to King Harald’s own ship 
to try to capture it; how one enemy-chieftain fell 
and his ship was taken by Harald; how another 
fled to an island and the armies of the different 
leaders not being able to hold together when their 



He was always an outstanding figure where the fight was thickest, 
encouraging his men forward. 











STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 89 


chiefs were gone, fled in their ships or on foot 
across the plain. 

So sang Hornklova, a famous minstrel at 
Harald’s court: 

“You’ve heard how in the Hafs Fiord, 

Our god-sprung king stood by the cause; 

Great ships came with a berserk 3 horde, 
War-eager ships with gaping jaws. 

“Each warrior clad in wolf-skin cloak, 

Their wolfish screams ring on our ears; 

With shining shields they press our folk, 

With swords from France and Gaelic spears. 

“They tantalize our gallant king, 

But soon he taught them how to flee: 

Against the foe our champions fling, 

Now see them turn on land, on sea! 

“A noble pack! Each shields his face 
Against the stones that ’round him fly; 

As o’er the plain, they, weary, race— 

‘Oh, for a horn of mead!’ they cry.” 

The fight is over. Harald, the victor, stands 
with head uncovered, his long locks—the growth 
of ten years—falling below his shoulders. His sol¬ 
diers surge around him with joyful acclamations 
for he has reached the height of his ambition— 
he is king of all Norway. 4 


90 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


Yes, for the first time in history, Norway is one 
united land. Peace has come, the peace Gyda 
dreamed of, and all who will not bend to Harald’s 
laws must leave the country. But where should 
they go? 

Out to sea lay a dim, little-known island, a wil¬ 
derness of wild mountains, glaciers and treeless 
plains. In some ways it resembled Norway, but 
there were no settlers and so the chiefs who chose 
to go into exile, selected Iceland as their new home. 
Thither they went with their families and house¬ 
hold gods. Before landing, one of the chieftains 
threw the pillars of the family High Seat into 
the ocean and where they washed ashore the new 
settlement was built. They called the place Smoky 
Bay. 5 Bold and unbending were these proud 
exiles, but they brought sturdy blood to that cold 
northern island, and a brave free folk flourished 
there. Norway was to see more strife when Har¬ 
ald’s days were past; but Iceland behind her icy 
exterior, shrouded in her mists, was to cherish the 
best Viking traditions for all time. And it came 
to pass that Iceland’s minstrels sang the praises of 
Norway’s heroes for all the world to hear. 

Ragnvald of Mora planned a feast to celebrate 
the victory at the Hafs Fiord. At the banquet, 
King Harald arose and shaking his locks, which 
were thick and heavy as a lion’s mane, he said: 

“See, Ragnvald, it is ten years since my hair was 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 91 


combed or cut. Now my vow is fulfilled, I have 
united Norway. So, good friend, I shall ask you 
to comb and cut my hair!” 

Earl Ragnvald had, indeed, no easy task. But 
he went at it bravely with comb and scissors; as 
bravely as he had formerly come to Harald’s as¬ 
sistance with shield and sword. Harald had gone 
by the nickname “Thick-hair” among his com¬ 
panions, but when his locks had been tended by 
Ragnvald’s hand, the earl called out: 

“What a handsome head of hair our king has, 
after all! Let Norway’s first monarch be called 
‘Harald of the Fair Hair’; so shall his noble vow 
always be remembered.” 

And ever since that day Harald has been known 
as “Harald Fair-Hair.” 

But an unpleasant event came to disturb the 
friendship between Harald and the earl. The 
cause was Ragnvald’s son, Rolf. Rolf was so 
large that no horse in Norway could carry him 
and he was called “Walking Rolf” because he had 
always to go on foot. Walking Rolf could, how¬ 
ever, sail by ship—provided it was big enough— 
and he was an eager Viking. To “go on a raid” 
in those heathen days was more or less of a gen¬ 
tleman’s sport and a boat-load of these hardy souls 
would often descend on some unprepared village, 
defeat the men in a fight, plunder the place and 
carry off the women. As a rule the Vikings chose 


92 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


places along the Baltic, British, French or Irish 
coasts to devastate, but Walking Rolf was once 
thoughtless enough to plunder a little town in 
Norway. 

When King Harald received news of this event, 
he was very angry. Not only was he opposed to 
raids in general, but he had pledged himself to 
defend the lands under his rule, and such an act 
was not to be tolerated from one of his own sub¬ 
jects. As a punishment, Harald ordered Walking 
Rolf to leave the country forever. 

Earl Ragnvald was too proud to plead for his 
son. He himself had helped Harald free the 
coasts from such raids and could only consider his 
son’s offense a most serious one. But Hild, mother 
of the culprit, felt that the family would be dis¬ 
graced by this public humiliation and sought to 
save her son. She came into the presence of the 
king and falling on her knees begged for the royal 
pardon. According to a skald who later sang of 
the event her plea ran something like this: 

“Shall a noble name come to disgrace, 

Its bearer banished by royal word? 

Think—he comes of a brave, true race— 

Why so merciless, Lord? 

“A dog, driven out, may become a wolf, 

A vengeful wolf, with terrible bite! 

What, oh, King, will become of my Rolf 
If driven out by thy might?” 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 93 


But the brave woman’s prayer was of no avail; 
the deed was too flagrant, Rolf must go. He did 
not, however, become the vengeful wolf his mother 
prophesied for he never came back to Norway. 
South he sailed, to the coast of France and settled 
there with a number of followers. The place has 
been called Normandy ever since, and later the 
noble strain of Ragnvald and Hild proved itself, 
for Rolf’s blood, through William the Conqueror, 
still flows in the veins of the kings of England. 6 

Through many years, in a peasant home of Val- 
ders, a woman, no longer quite so young, has been 
watching the career of Harald of the Fair Hair 
with no ordinary interest. Each victory he has 
won has brought a thrill to her heart; each report 
of his noble treatment of an enemy has made her 
cheeks glow with pride. In Harald’s footsteps 
Peace has gradually spread her mantle over the 
land and the people, turning from thoughts of war, 
have devoted more and more time to the gentler 
arts. The news of the Hafs Fiord victory caps the 
climax. 

“I knew he could! I knew he would!” cries 
Gyda, the tall, the haughty, clapping her hands for 
joy. 

For ten years she has waited for this day and 
now Harald will come and claim her as his own. 

But the days go by and there is no word of 
Harald. 


94 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


The brilliant color pales in Gyda’s cheeks. Has 
he really forgotten her? Or does he wish to show 
her that he, too, is proud? Perhaps his first flush 
of enthusiasm has died and a throng of events and 
personages dimmed her image in his mind. 

Still she waits patiently. She goes over the fine 
linen she has been assembling through the years— 
her bridal raiment. She takes it out of the carved 
chest that stands in her room, and again lays each 
piece in its place. 

Her aged foster-mother watches her silently 
with wistful eyes. Viking women learn fortitude, 
like Viking men; they do not express their feelings 
with their lips. 

One morning the quiet country-side is disturbed 
by the galloping of hoofs down the valley. Gyda 
rushes to the balcony and sees a crowd of knights 
already dismounting at her door. The knights 
recognize her. 

“A greeting to Norway’s queen!” they cry. For 
these are messengers sent by Harald to bid Gyda 
make her promise good. This time, you may be 
sure, she is willing. 

So the messengers bring Gyda, with shining 
eyes, to her lord. 

“I come, Harald,” she cries, “not to a little ruler 
over a few bickering peasants, but to the great king 
of a peaceful land.” 

“After all it is you, Gyda, who has brought 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 95 


peace to Norway and joy to my heart!” answers 
King Harald as he takes her in his arms. 7 


^he custom of sending young girls to learn the homely arts 
in some well-conducted household other than their own home 
is still common in the lands of the Far North. 

2 Ragnvald, pronounced Ron-vald. 

3 Berserks were professional fighters in the Far North, noted 
for their mad valor. 

4 The date of this victory (872) has the same meaning for 
Norwegians to-day as the date 1776 has for the United States 
of America. On the thousandth anniversary of the date—in 
1872—the Norwegian poet, Henrik Ibsen, commemorated the 
event in a poem describing the fight. 

Regarding the significance of Harald’s work and personality, 
Doctor Gjerset in his History of the Norwegian People says: 

“Many features of Harald’s great work are clearly traceable 
to the influence of Charlemagne and Alfred the Great, from 
whose constructive statesmanship he gathered both inspiration 
and ideas. His plan of making Norway a united kingdom, and 
of dividing the country into earldoms are ascribable, in the main, 
to this influence. But he was not a mere imitator. All ac¬ 
counts of him, whether friendly or hostile, agree in describing 
him as a gifted and truly great man.” 

5 Reykjavik in Iceland. It is to-day the capital of Iceland. 

6 Some historians consider that Rolf (or Rollo), first Duke of 
Normandy, was a Dane and not from Norway, but Snorra’s 
version as here given is still regarded by many as the correct 
one. 

7 The story of Harald and Gyda is one of the best-known of 
Norway's saga tales. 



VI 

ERIK BLOOD-AX AND HAAKON THE 
GOOD 

Harald Fair-Hair, King of Erik, Crown-prince of Nor- 


Norway 


way 


Ethelstan, King of England Sigurd Earl of Trondhjem 


Two Magicians from England 
Gunhild, a pupil in magic 
Tora , a serving woman 


Haakon 

Halfdan 

Olaf 



Place: Norway, England and the shore of the White Sea. 


AN INSOLENT GIFT 


F all his sons, King Harald favored Erik the 
most and Haakon the least. Erik was tall, 
handsome and haughty, a daring sailor and soldier, 
while Haakon was a quiet, retiring fellow with 
more interest in learning than for the arts of war. 

“Every inch a king!” exclaimed Harald as he 
proudly surveyed the many inches of the young 
Erik who stood straight as a Norway pine. And 
it was ordained that Erik should be the crown 
prince and inherit Harald’s kingdom. But when 
the king looked at the child Haakon, he shrugged 
his shoulders and said to himself: “One can easily 
see that he is not quite of noble birth.” And he 
was not; for Haakon’s mother was Tora, a serving 
woman to the queen. 


96 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 97 


Now Harald had several wives as was the cus¬ 
tom for great kings in those days. When one is 
making a country’s laws, why should he not allow 
himself as many wives as he wants? There had 
been Gyda, the beloved wife of his youth, now 
long dead but not forgotten. There was Aasa, 1 sis¬ 
ter of Sigurd, the mighty earl; by marrying Aasa 
Harald had made his power more secure in 
Sigurd’s province of Trondhjem. 2 Then there was 
the princess from Denmark whose hand secured 
Harald the friendship of that important kingdom. 
The princess had died shortly after the birth of 
her son, Erik. And finally in his old age Harald 
had loved Tora, serving woman to the queen. 

Poor Tora! Hers was not a happy lot when she 
knew that a child was to be born but that the king 
no longer favored her. Still she felt it her duty 
to go to Harald. When Sigurd the mighty earl 
heard of Tora’s plight, (his own sister had long 
since lost first place in the king’s heart) he pitied 
her and said he would help her to come to the king. 
So he himself took her on his ship. But it was a 
long journey and before the voyage was over, a 
little son was born. Sigurd the earl poured water 
on the boy 3 and gave him the name of Haakon. 
Tora gave the child a good bringing up on one of 
the king’s estates, but Harald seldom cared to see 
his son. 

At that time a new king in England sent a 


98 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


courier to Norway’s king with his compliments. 
The courier brought a handsome gift to Harald 
from his neighbor-king, Ethelstan of England. It 
was a costly sword with a handle and hilt of gold, 
a blade decorated with gold and silver figures and 
many precious stones set in it, so that it shimmered 
and shone like a rainbow. King Harald was de¬ 
lighted with the gift. He took it from its sheath 
and waved it before his courtiers who exclaimed 
with admiration. But the admiration changed to 
anger when the courier said: 

“The king of Norway receives the king of Eng¬ 
land’s gift as our king expected. In accepting 
Ethelstan’s sword Harald Fair-Hair becomes the 
vassal of the king of England.” 

“An insolent gift!” cried King Harald, his face 
becoming pale with anger. In those days it was 
the custom for a chief who swore allegiance to a 
king to take the king’s sword just as Harald had 
taken Ethelstan’s. But Harald had no intention of 
being tricked, clever though the ruse was. Most 
Viking sovereigns would have made short work of 
a courier bringing such a message, but not Harald. 
Through long years he had learned to master the 
anger that occasionally flared up in him. A 
cold intellect he found to be a surer judge of any 
situation, and the result of his best judgment in 
this case was to send the courier away unharmed. 

But the following summer, the king of Norway 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 99 


sent the king of England a present. Ethelstan was 
at a banquet in London when Harald’s envoys ar¬ 
rived. These thirty stalwart Vikings, fierce and 
fair, made an impressive sight as they filed majes¬ 
tically into the king’s presence. The captain of 
this royal guard led by the hand Harald Fair- 
Hair’s little son, Haakon. 

“We come bearing the compliments of Harald 
Fair-Hair, King of Norway,” roared the fair giant 
in command, and with this he set the child, Haa¬ 
kon, on Ethelstan’s knee. 

“What is the meaning of this?” inquired Ethel¬ 
stan. 

“Harald bids Ethelstan foster for him, his son 
by a serving woman,” answered the warrior. “And 
Ethelstan accepts the charge by taking the child 
Haakon on his knee!” 

“An insolent message is this!” exclaimed Ethel¬ 
stan, biting his lips. In those days a chieftain 
would often ask some one of inferior social rank 
to bring up one of his children and the duty was 
accepted by taking the chieftain’s child on the 
knee. Thus Ethelstan was unwittingly pledged to 
be foster-father to Haakon, the least in rank of all 
Harald’s sons. 

Ethelstan made as though he would kill the 
child with his sword. 

“Kill him if you like,” said Harald’s spokes¬ 
man. “You can not alter the fact that you took 


100 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


him on your knee. And when you have killed him, 
remember that all the sons of Harald Fair-Hair 
are not dead.” 

Ethelstan did not kill the trembling boy who 
gazed with wondering eyes into the face of the 
angry man. 

Harald surmised as much, before he sent the lad. 
Ethelstan was a Christian and although the proud 
Vikings were not interested in the new belief, they 
acknowledged that its followers were more gentle, 
by reason of it. And each of the thirty of Harald’s 
guard had a sword hidden under his cape at the 
left side, so the little son was not so undefended 
as he seemed. 

Out from the hall tread Harald’s stately giants, 
down to their ships and sail away. Not, however, 
until Ethelstan has actually agreed to adopt the 
child Haakon. The look of appeal in the boy’s 
eyes has melted his rage and after all he can not 
but admire Harald’s method of replying to his 
own insolent gift. 

Haakon was brought up at the English Court 
Manners were more polished and customs gentler 
than in the Far North where the fierce Vikings 
still worshiped their gods of war. The Norse lad 
thrived in his adopted land. His heart was kind, 
his disposition like the sunshine that glinted in his 
fair hair. Handsome and strong he grew, and his 
English companions admired his strength and his 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 101 


frankness of manner. As for Ethelstan, lie came 
to love the child as though he really were his son. 

THE FINDING OF GUNHILD 

On the borders of the cold White Sea, far north 
where the world sleeps under a pall of ice the year 
round, Prince Erik found the most beautiful wo¬ 
man he had ever seen. Pale she was, as the driven 
snow. Black was her hair as the long winter’s 
night. Her lips were red as the holly berry and 
her gray-green eyes shone with an unearthly glow 
like the shifting shades of the northern lights. She 
stood at the door of a hut and watched the prince 
and his followers as they came on skis over the 
dead-white wilderness. 

“Who are you, strangers?” she asked. 

“I am a prince of the line of Frey,” answered 
Erik, “and heir to Norway’s crown. My father 
has sent me out with a little fleet of five ships to 
see the world. For eight years I have traveled 
on land and sea, but never before did I see such 
a beautiful woman as you.” 

“At least, never such an unhappy one!” an¬ 
swered the lady with tears in her eyes. “My name 
is Gunhild. I came here to learn the arts of magic 
for I wanted to know of the secret things on earth 
and in the heavens, I wanted to read the runes and 
work charms as Freya of old did in Aasgaard. 
But now all is changed. The two magicians with 


102 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


whom I came to study are both in love with me! 
They are dreadful old Finns 4 and give me no 
peace!” 

“Why don’t you leave them?” asked Erik. 

“I dare not,” answered Gunhild. “They can 
follow a trail like dogs—on the hard ice as well 
as on the snow. They travel so swiftly on skis that 
neither man nor beast can escape them. They 
shoot everything at which they aim!” 

“Where are these terrible men?” cried the 
prince. “We are famous fighters and would like a 
chance at them.” 

“Oh, no!” exclaimed the pale woman, becom¬ 
ing even paler with fear. “Do not talk so. If they 
return from their hunting trip and find you here, 
you will have no chance. Why, when they become 
really angry, the earth shakes and every living 
thing they look at, dies.” 

“Perhaps we could hide in the hut and kill them 
later,” suggested Erik, always eager for adventure. 

“I don’t think—” began Gunhild, then stopped. 
She was listening intently, with red lips parted. 
“Ah,” she continued, “I feel that they will be here 
in a moment. Come in and I will hide you.” 

Into the hut they hurried; Gunhild had scarcely 
time to strew some ashes to hide their tracks, when 
two pairs of skis like a flash of lightning shot 
through the air and the two magicians stood in the 
doorway. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 103 


“Who has been here?” thundered the Finns in 
terrible voices. 

“There has been no one here,” answered Gun- 
hild gently. 

“We followed a trail almost to the house,” 
growled the Finns. 

“You surely have been mistaken,” replied Gun- 
hild calmly; “you can see there has been no one 
here.” 

“Oh, we might just look around a bit for our¬ 
selves,” sniffed one of the magicians, eying her sus¬ 
piciously. 

But Gunhild betrayed not the least sign of 
anxiety. 

“Come,” said she, “here is some nice fish I have 
cooked for you. And see this splendid piece of 
venison. You must surely be hungry after such a 
long cold trip.” 

The Finns were indeed very hungry, for al¬ 
though they were wizards, they were also human. 
So they ate and ate of Gunhild’s ample meal, and 
meanwhile she made up their beds. Now the 
Finns were so jealous of each other that they some¬ 
times could not sleep, each being afraid that his 
companion might disappear with their pupil. For 
three nights previously they had not closed their 
eyes and they were therefore especially weary 
after their hunt and the big meal. 

“Come now, and lie down,” suggested Gunhild, 


104 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


patting them on the shoulder, but neither of them 
would rest unless he was sure that she remained 
near. So she sat between their beds, with a hand 
on the arm of each, and thus they went to sleep. 

All was quiet in the little hut. A pale light 
reflected from the snow world without, glimmered 
through the window. Erik, from his hiding-place, 
could see the slender form of the woman, sitting 
motionless between the couches. Finally the si¬ 
lence was broken by snores. Gunhild leaned over 
and shook each sleeper roughly until he awoke. 
They turned and murmured, and then fell back 
into a deeper slumber than before. Gunhild shook 
them again; this time they barely stirred. She 
shook them a third time, but was unable to awaken 
them at all. She sat them both up in bed, and they 
continued to sleep. Then she took two sealskins, 
pulled one over each head and bound them tightly 
below their hands. 

Through the shadows, silent as a flitting shadow 
herself, she moved over the floor to where Erik 
and his men were hidden. 

“Come, now is your chance!” she whispered. 

Erik and his comrades came from their hiding- 
places and were startled to see two big seals sitting 
on the edge of the bed. But they soon understood 
Gunhild’s clever trick and drew their swords. 

Slash! Over toppled one seal. 

Crash! Over went the other. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 105 


They pulled their bodies outside the hut and that 
was the end of the two magicians from Finland. 

After the deed was done, a terrible storm blew 
up. It screamed and raged around the little hut 
until Erik thought the end of the world had come. 
But it had not, and next day he brought the pale 
Gunhild over the waste of ice to where his ships 
lay. 

The little fleet sailed to Haalogaland, where 
they sought out Gunhild’s father to obtain his con¬ 
sent to their wedding, for on the voyage they had 
become betrothed. This given, they sailed farther 
south to the home of Erik’s father, the aged King 
Harald. 

King Harald Fair-Hair was now over eighty 
years old. The prophecy made when he was a 
child had been fulfilled: his reign had been long 
and prosperous. When his favorite son Erik was 
finally returned from his voyage, a grown man 
and a hardened fighter, Harald thought the time 
had come for his son to take over the kingdom. 

“I have two crowns,” said Harald to Erik. 
“The golden crown of Norway and the white 
crown of years. Bear the former for me, that I 
may better bear the latter.” 

Three years later Harald Fair-Hair died quiet¬ 
ly on one of his estates. He was buried with great 
honors at Haugesund. 5 In the meantime Erik 
who had been given the title of Blood-Ax, became 


106 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


Norway’s king and Gunhild became his queen. 
But their troubles were only just begun. 

THE LEAST SHALL BE GREATEST 

King Ethelstan of England sent for Haakon, 
his foster son, for he had important news to tell 
him. When the young man stood before the king, 
the latter gazed at him with an expression of sad¬ 
ness. What a fine fellow he had grown to be! He 
was only fifteen, but taller and stronger than his 
English companions. He was modest by nature 
and his Christian training had made him gentler 
than any Viking had ever been before. There was 
a gladness in his smile, a frankness in his blue eyes, 
and he carried himself with the unconscious pride 
of an ancient race. 

A Christian, yes,—but after all, a prince of the 
line of Frey! 

“I have a gift for you, my lad,” began the king. 
“I once sent your father a sword, but it was given 
in another spirit from that in which I give this 
one to you . Your father handled the sword I sent 
him most cleverly. Let me see how well you can 
handle this.” And he put a slender, glittering 
weapon in the boy’s hand. 

Haakon’s eyes shone with pleasure. He ex¬ 
amined the golden hilt. Then the Viking in him 
came to the surface. With a mighty swing he 
brought the blade down on a near-by stone. The 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 107 


rock split neatly in two—the edge of the weapon 
was unmarred. 

“Bravo!” cried King Ethelstan. “The sword 
has now been christened. It shall be called 
‘Kvernbit’ 6 for it has bitten a mill-stone in two.” 

With all his pleasure at Haakon’s exhibition of 
strength and skill, it made him sad. 

“Haakon,” said he, “no son of my own could 
bring me greater honor than you, and I love you 
as a son. But the time has come when we must 
part.” 

The young man looked at his guardian in sur¬ 
prise. 

“I am very happy here with you, sire,” he an¬ 
swered. “You have indeed been more to me than 
my own father. Why must we part?” 

“Because your own father, the aged Harald, is 
dead,” replied King Ethelstan. “He has provided 
well for his other sons and there is no doubt an 
inheritance awaiting you in Norway. There your 
future lies. There you can perhaps find a twofold 
use for what you have learned in England. Yours 
is a noble race, but your fathers have often been 
fierce and cruel for they worship the gods of might, 
Odin and Tor. Teach your people something of 
the true Christ and when danger threatens, may 
God and Kvernbit protect you!” 

Haakon the Good, as he was now called, came 
back to Norway with an escort befitting a king’s 


108 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


son. He sought first the friend of Tora, his 
mother, Sigurd, the mighty Earl of Trondhjem. 

“Who is this?” cried the aged earl starting up 
on seeing the young man. “Has my lord, King 
Harald Fair-Hair,come back, restored to youth?” 
For Haakon the Good was the image of his father 
in his best days. 

“It is not Harald but Harald’s son,” answered 
the fair-haired lad. “The son of Tora,” he added 
modestly, “whom you yourself baptized as 
Haakon.” 

“Welcome back to your native land!” cried the 
elder man cordially, grasping the younger by the 
hand. “But you come alas in evil days.” 

“Evil days?” questioned Haakon. “Does not 
my brother Erik rule the country and are not my 
other brothers well provided for?” 

Sigurd the Earl shook his head. 

“I have been told that my brother Erik ruled 
Norway after my father’s wish, and that the beau¬ 
tiful Gunhild was his queen.” 

At the mention of Gunhild, the earl held up a 
warning finger. “Speak not of her!” he ex¬ 
claimed. Then he added: “I trust you, Haakon. 
I see before me the true son of a noble father, 
which Erik your brother is not. And as for his 
pale wife”—here his voice sank to a whisper— 
“they say she is a witch!” 

As Sigurd the Earl had said, evil days had come 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 109 


to Norway, with Erik Blook-Ax and his queen. 
Under Harald Fair-Hair, his different sons had 
been governors over the provinces, but Erik did 
not like to see his brothers have any power at all. 
The people of the provinces, on the other hand, 
were contented with their governors and did not 
know Prince Erik who for many years had been 
away from Norway. So the people of Trondhjem 
said: 

“We will have nothing of this Prince Erik, let 
us elect Harald’s other son, Halfdan, as our king.” 

And the people of the province of Viken said: 

“Prince Erik is hateful to us; let our governor 
Olaf, Harald’s son, be our king.” 

Thus Norway was divided into three parts, each 
ruled by a son of Harald Fair-Hair. 

King Erik resolved if possible to do away with 
his brothers, King Halfdan and King Olaf Har- 
aldson. He sent first to Olaf and demanded that 
he pay certain taxes, but this Olaf would not do. 
Then Erik sent a mighty army into Viken and 
defeated Olaf’s smaller force. Olaf Haraldson lay 
slain on the battle-field and his son, a lad named 
Trygva, fled to the mountains. 

King Halfdan of Trondhjem was not so easily 
disposed of. Trondhjem was the finest province in 
Norway and its warlike people were loyal to their 
elected ruler, whose uncle, 7 the mighty Earl Si¬ 
gurd, was specially influential. Erik Blood-Ax 


110 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


and his queen Gunhild sat in the province of Viken 
which they had taken from the slain Olaf and 
pondered on how they could get rid of the other 
upstart, Halfdan. 

King Halfdan of Trondhjem went to a feast 
given in his honor. When cups were filled, a fas¬ 
cinating woman stood by his side and poured him 
a special draught of mead. The king thought it 
was a mark of courtesy. But that night he was 
taken violently ill and died. A messenger sped 
through the darkness with this word for Gunhild: 

“The potion worked; Halfdan is dead.” 

It was not for nothing that the pale queen had 
studied black art with the Finland magician! 

All this had been going on in Norway, while the 
despised youngest brother was living quietly in 
England. It was just after the mysterious death 
of King Halfdan, that the lad Haakon came to 
Earl Sigurd in Trondhjem. 

“But didn’t my father make any provision for 
me?” asked the boy, shuddering at the recital of 
all this dreadful news. 

“No,” answered Sigurd the Earl. He looked 
searchingly at the fine figure of manhood before 
him—the image of Harald Fair-Hair, but with 
a nobler and milder look in his eyes. A great idea 
struck the clever earl. 

“It is not too late. Something may yet be done. 
Come!” he cried. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 111 


Such an excitement existed in Trondhjem as 
had not been known in many years. The strange 
death of their honored Halfdan had moved all 
hearts and a steady tide of anger was rising 
against Erik and Gunhild who, it was expected, 
would soon come to lay the province under their 
harsh rule. Sigurd the Earl, their wisest man, 
assembled an open-air meeting to consider the 
situation, and the people came in thousands. 

“I have called you together,” said Sigurd the 
Earl, “to consider the matter of choosing a king. 
For no king is really the ruler of his people un¬ 
less he represents their choice. Now I have a can¬ 
didate to offer. Here he stands.” At this point 
the young Haakon rose and stood beside the earl. 
“Can you tell me who this is?” 

A thrill of wonder and emotion swept over the 
assembly. As he stood there, his blond head bared 
in the sunshine, Haakon was the picture of his 
father in his young days. 

“Harald Fair-Hair!” cried one. “Our king 
Harald Fair-Hair!” cried another and each took 
the word from his neighbor. “It is Harald, our 
hero come back to us again!” 

Then Sigurd explained to the people that it 
was not really their former king but Harald’s 
youngest son. He told them in a few words of 
Haakon’s sojourn in England and then said the 
lad would speak for himself. 


112 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


Haakon stepped forward. In simple words he 
told them about his ideas of kingship. He spoke 
clearly and with force, not so much about what 
their duties should be to him but about his duities 
to them. It was quite another doctrine than that 
preached by Erik of the Bloody-Ax. The en¬ 
thusiasm of the crowd grew. 

“Haakon—the good Haakon shall be our king!” 
they cried. “Down with Erik Blood-Ax! Long 
live Haakon the Good!’ 

The news of the return of Haakon spread over 
Norway “like fire through the dry grass,” says the 
saga, “from west to east, to the very land’s end.” 
Other meetings of peasants were held in other 
provinces and all sent messengers offering their 
allegiance to the new king, the image of Harald 
Fair-Hair. Before Erik and his pale queen were 
well aware, Viken had risen again and declared 
for Haakon the Good. Erik tried to rally an army 
but no one would fight for him. Even Gunhild’s 
black arts stood powerless in the all-conquering 
sunshine of Haakon’s personality. At least for the 
present. 

So Erik and Gunhild took to their ships and 
fled from Norway. Erik Blood-Ax, the son Har¬ 
ald valued most, had proved himself to be least, 
while the son of Tora, the serving woman, had 
proved worthiest of the princes of the line of Frey. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 113 


J Aasa—O -sa. 

2 T rondh j em—T ron-yem. 

3 Baptism was a pagan as well as a Christian custom. 

4 The Finns (or Lapps) are a Mongolian race who seemed 
to have immigrated to Scandinavia after the Norsemen were 
already there. They were always looked at with suspicion by 
the Norsemen and even in the later Middle Ages were re¬ 
garded as skilled in black magic. Again and again in the sagas 
they figure as wizards with charmed potions, bewitched arrows, 
etc., always bringing misfortune in their wake as in the tale, 
Queen Ragnhild’s Dream Tree. One of Sweden’s most fa¬ 
mous Cathedrals (at Lund, which was the center of Viking cul¬ 
ture for South Sweden) was said to have been nearly destroyed 
by a Finnish magician, but in the act of pulling down a pillar, 
he was turned to stone and can still be seen clinging to the 
column. The line between the Norsemen and the Finn is 
drawn from the earliest times. A beautiful Finnish woman 
named Snefrid bewitches King Harald of the Fair Hair and 
the sage dilates on the evil results of this marriage. (Den« 
mark’s most famous modern playwright, Holger Drachmann, 
has written a drama on Snefrid.) The sagas of the Viking 
Age help to explain why the northern countries to-day, in 
spirit, persistently refuse to accept Finland as “a sister Scan¬ 
dinavian country,” in spite of a surface culture which some 
Finnish circles have derived from Sweden. 

6 His grave can still be seen. 

6 Kvern means mill. This sword became as famous in Nor¬ 
way, as the sword of King Arthur in Britain or that of Roland 
in France. “Its hilt and handle were gold, but its sound was 
better than gold,” sing the sagas. “No finer sword ever came 
to Norway than that of Haakon the Good.” 

7 These different relationships are shown on Queen Ragnhild’s 
Dream Tree. 


VII 

FALSE GODS AND TRUE 


King Haakon the Good Asbern , a warrior-priest 

Sigurd, Earl of Trondhjem Worshipers of Odin and Tor 

Place: At the Temple of Odin in Trondhjem. 

** / T s HERE is but one thing I can not like in 
^ Norway,” said King Haakon the Good to 
his friend, Sigurd the Earl. “The people are wor¬ 
shiping false gods. My greatest desire is to see 
my brave countrymen give up their beliefs in 
Odin, Frey and Tor and come to the Christian 
faith.” 

Sigurd, the clever Earl of Trondhjem, shook his 
head. 

“You do not understand,” he answered. “The 
people in England, where you have been brought 
up, are Christians. Therefore, you can not realize 
how deep is the faith we have in the great beings 
who led our fathers to the Far North from Aas- 
gaard in the East.” 

“I should like to bring this question before the 
people,” answered the young king. “Since they 
chose me as their ruler, see how prosperous they 
are! The roving Yiking gives up his pirate raids 
to become a farmer or trader. My people are 
one free united nation, as my father, Harald Fair- 
114 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 115 


Hair, wanted them to be. They are ripe for the 
true faith and as my father brought them union, 
I wish to bring them the strength of Christ.” 

The king’s enthusiasm impressed Sigurd and he 
agreed to help bring the matter before the peo¬ 
ple. Sigurd himself was one of the most devout 
worshipers of Odin, and often acted as high priest 
at the festivals when the altars flowed with blood 
and the silver-decked idols received their offer¬ 
ings. 1 

“But,” thought he, “our mighty deities need not 
fear this new false faith. Let the Trondhjem folk 
hear of it, if that is the king’s will.” 

Great was the gathering of people at the tem¬ 
ple of Odin when Haakon the Good came to tell 
them about the Christ. And great were their ex¬ 
pectations, for this prince of the line of Frey, like 
his own famous ancestors, had brought only good 
and prosperity to the land. And the hope of the 
young king was also great for he felt that if 
Trondhjem could be won over, the rest of Norway 
would soon follow. This would complete the plan 
he had made for his country’s betterment and his 
pledge to King Ethelstan, his foster-father, would 
be fulfilled. 

The fair-haired king spoke clearly and frankly 
as was his wont, but when he had finished, there 
was no response of enthusiasm from his audience. 
Instead a silence—a silence tense with a feeling 


116 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


of uncertainty. Asbern, an aged warrior-priest, 
arose. 

“You have presented us a most difficult thing, 
my Lord,” said he. “I know your people well— 
even better than you for they have been longer my 
people—and I know that I speak for them when 
I beg you to give us time to talk the matter over. 
At another meeting we can present our side of the 
question and a decision can be made.” 

This seemed quite reasonable to the king and so 
the matter was left to be decided later. 

The next time the populace was called together, 
there was a gathering even greater than before. 
It was indeed no little question that was to be 
debated, for it was to be decided which were the 
false gods and which the true. When the crowds 
had found places, Haakon the Good stood up be¬ 
fore them. 

“I want to repeat my message,” he said. “I 
want to plead with every one of you, be he weak or 
powerful. I want my words to reach the young 
men as well as the old, the rich as well as the 
less prosperous, the women as well as the men. 
What I beg of you all is this. Take the new faith 
I offer you—the new and the true! Turn your 
eyes to the one true God and give up your sacri¬ 
fices to false ones. You need not sacrifice to ap¬ 
peal to the true God. Only in His honor should 
you hold every seventh day holy as do the people 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 117 


in Christian lands. On every seventh day the be¬ 
lievers in Christ do not work.” 

The king sat down. A wave of unrest surged 
over the people and there was excited talking 
among them. What a strange God this must be. 
Did the king want to take their work from them 
every seventh day? How could the land be prop¬ 
erly cultivated and ordinary life go its regular 
course, if everybody stopped working every seventh 
day and did nothing? The idea of Sunday had 
never been presented to them before! 

Then the aged Asbern arose and like waves 
after a tempest the voices subsided into silence. 

“We peasants thought, oh, King,” said the patri¬ 
arch, “that when we chose you as our ruler and 
heard your generous promises, we had actually 
touched heaven with our hands. For you spoke 
nobly and we felt that under you we would be a 
free people. But now we begin to wonder whether 
after all we have our freedom, for now you wish 
to bind our ideas and force us to believe in some¬ 
thing we do not understand. It is not little you 
ask of us;—to give up the faith our grandfathers 
found comfort in—the faith which our ancestors 
and yours brought with them from the shining city 
of Aasgaard. 

“You know that we respect you. We have been 
glad to have your counsel and we have agreed to 
follow your laws, and wish to do so. We will fol- 


118 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


low you, every one of us, as long as we live and 
acknowledge no other ruler, if you, oh, King, will 
only be moderate and ask no more of us than we 
can honestly give. But if you intend to press the 
matter we peasants have decided that we can not 
follow you. In that case, we must elect a new king 
who will allow us to believe what we will. Now, 
oh, King, the people await your choice and we 
wish you to choose at this meeting!” 2 

The vast assembly broke into wild applause. 
The red color went from the king’s cheek. He 
knew those words came from the heart of an hon¬ 
est man and were the opinion of an honest people. 
He had not himself realized the strength of these 
false gods. He was speechless. But the clever 
Earl Sigurd seeing his young over-lord’s dilemma, 
stood up at once and with the smoothness of an 
elder diplomat, he said: 

“King Haakon has no higher wish than to 
agree with you. He will never forfeit your friend¬ 
ship!” 

Now there was more talking but the tone was 
quieter. 

“If the king means what Earl Sigurd says,” went 
the conversation, “he should come to our sacred 
feast. We sacrifice that we may have peace and 
prosperity, which is what he himself desires.” 

The people dispersed. A clever earl had saved 
a kingdom for his king. But which were the false 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 119 


gods, which the true? The final decision was yet 
to come. 

In the autumn, the Feast of the Harvest was 
celebrated. From all the countryside the people 
of Trondhjem assembled at the temple of Odin. 
They came on horseback or in carts from the near¬ 
by villages, on foot from over the mountains, or 
gliding over the blue-black fiord in their boats 
from the islands along the coast. It was like a big 
county fair with bargaining, bickering, visiting 
and feasting. Those from remote districts brought 
their food and set up temporary households in 
tents. King Haakon took great pleasure in these 
gatherings, but there was one feature of the occa¬ 
sion he did not like—the main feature as far as 
most of his countrymen were concerned—and that 
was the ceremonial in the temple, the offerings 
to the false gods and the bathing of their altars in 
blood. 

“What do you think has happened?” cried Si¬ 
gurd the Earl, as he hurried into Haakon’s pres¬ 
ence the first day of the festival. “The people are 
still talking about your speech at the last assem¬ 
blage. They doubt your sympathy with their 
customs and want some active proof of your loy¬ 
alty!” 

“Loyal?” questioned the fair-haired Haakon in 
surprise. “I could not be more loyal to them as 
you know. I desire nothing more than that my 


120 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


people should prosper, but what shall I do to con¬ 
vince them?” 

“They are calling for you in the temple,” an¬ 
swered the earl. “They want you to preside at 
their feast like a true prince of the line of Frey.” 

Haakon had never set foot inside the temple of 
Odin. He always was present on the big feast 
days, showing himself frequently among the 
crowds, but outside the sacred building. Within, 
it had always been Sigurd who presided. 

“What shall I do?” asked Haakon almost plead¬ 
ingly of the elder man. “I fear I have been too 
eager to convince them. But now I shall do what 
you think best.” 

Sigurd was much pleased. 

“Come, then,” he exclaimed. “Your place is 
indeed at Odin’s shrine. I shall arrange every¬ 
thing so that neither you nor the people will be 
offended.” Earl Sigurd was promising not a little, 
but he was a clever man. 

A buzz of interest echoed to the dimmest corners 
of the temple as Haakon the Good entered the 
building and took his place on the High Seat. The 
people were evidently pleased. Even the jeweled 
idols seemed to extend a welcome to the prodigal. 
As the sacred flame leaped higher and clouds of 
smoke curled through the opening in the roof it 
seemed as though an expression of amused con¬ 
descension could be traced on their crude faces. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 121 


Or was it only the flickering light that caused their 
countenances to change? 

There sat Haakon the Christian, presiding over 
the rites to the Norse gods, just as his ancestors had 
done back to Frey himself in the city of Upsala in 
Sweden. Yes, there he sat face to face with an 
image of that very ancestor who had been wor¬ 
shiped even before the Christ was born—and 
Haakon denied him in his heart! Was there not 
after all something cruel, ungrateful in that de¬ 
nial? Frey had been a good and noble man, he 
had brought great blessings to the people of the 
Far North. “True,” acknowledged Haakon, “but 
he was not a god and I will not worship him as 
one!” 

Meanwhile the worshiping was going on to Frey 
and his fellow deities and in a manner such as 
the young king had never seen. A horse was led 
up to one of the altars and slain. Its blood gushed 
forth; part of the dark fluid was gathered in bowls 
and the people eagerly dipped their hands in it. 
Sheep, goats and cattle were then led into the 
shrine and, one by one, slain on the sacred altars. 
More and more blood flowed forth, the bowls were 
full. The worshipers stained the walls purple 
with blood, they bathed the idols in it and even 
sprinkled it on themselves. 

The king looked on with astonishment, mingled 
with disgust. He thought of his early days in Eng- 


122 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


land, of the stately church ceremonies with the 
bishop presiding; the holy sacrament; the bells 
calling to mass of an Easter morning. The fumes 
from the carcasses mingled with the smell of the 
blood and the clouds of smoke became denser un¬ 
til they almost hid the faces of the gods. How 
stonily they gazed at him; as if they knew of the 
torture within his heart and secretly rejoiced. 

What deities were these that could find pleasure 
in so much blood? If Frey had really been the 
noble man pictured in the sagas, he would never 
find pleasure in sights like this. Nor would Odin 
or Tor if they had been noble men. But they 
were only men after all and not gods, therefore the 
orgy seemed doubly useless. The fumes were 
choking the prince of the line of Frey; he longed 
to escape into the open air. 

“Now,” came the voice of Sigurd the Earl, “we 
shall drink the toasts.” 

Through the smoke Haakon could see the lead¬ 
ing men gathering around the sacred fire, each 
with a beaker in his hand. In the meantime the 
carcasses were being cut up and placed in huge 
kettles. 

Round and round the flame paced the chieftains 
with their drinking horns held aloft. Haakon 
took his beaker and stood up. 

“To the health of Odin, greatest of the gods!” 
cried Earl Sigurd, and every one drank his cup 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 123 


to the dregs. Haakon also drank but first made the 
sign of the cross over his cup. 

“To Frey, God of Peace and Prosperity!” cried 
Sigurd, and again every one raised his beaker and 
drank off the contents. Haakon also emptied the 
draught to his own ancestor but made the sign of 
the cross 

“What was that the king did?” whispered some¬ 
body. 

“Did you see the sign our king makes when he 
drinks?” remarked another. 

In fact everybody had noticed it and now there 
came an awkward pause in the ceremonies for 
there was a feeling that all was not as it should 
be. Earl Sigurd as usual was ready to save his 
king from embarrassment. 

“Our king makes the sign of the hammer when 
he drinks,” explained he. “Our king believes in 
strength and consecrates his toast to Tor.” Tor 
was the god of war and his sign was the hammer. 

The youthful king was quite as abashed by this 
explanation as the people were pleased, but the 
situation had gone beyond his control. He said 
nothing; only gazed helplessly out Over the mul¬ 
titude. Again Earl Sigurd had helped him hold 
the esteem of his subjects. As for the elderly Si¬ 
gurd, even though he knew it was not a hammer 
but a cross that the king held sacred, he admired 
his ruler more than ever. 


124 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


“A splendid fellow he is,” thought the earl; “we 
shall yet win him back to the faith of his fathers 
and away from these foreign gods.” 

Odin, the Wonder-Prince of Aasgaard, still had 
magic to use in behalf of his people. Could Haa¬ 
kon, disciple of the new Christ, resist? Another 
test came the following day. 

In the temple of Odin the crowds were again 
assembled. Their gentle king sat as before on 
the High Seat and beside him was his faithful 
friend Earl Sigurd. The humor of the crowd was 
good. Besides the ample cheer they had been 
enjoying, the people were glad to feel that they 
were winning their king from his foolish ideas 
about worship. Only the king was not quite hap¬ 
py. He was dazed,—he felt relieved that he had 
pleased his followers, but unhappy that he had not 
been true to his own ideals. 

This was a feast day, indeed. The meat from 
the slaughtered offerings had been cooked in cal¬ 
drons and the company was gathered to consume 
it. A portion was served to Haakon. 

“What is it?” asked the king. 

“Horse flesh,” answered the earl. “The cere¬ 
mony of to-day consists in eating the offerings of 
yesterday.” 

The king turned away with an expression of dis¬ 
gust. 

“I can not eat it,” said he. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 125 


“What does he say? What does he say?” came 
whispers from the ever-suspicious multitude, and 
the king’s sponsor, the ever-ready Sigurd, explains: 

“The king prefers soup to meat Bring His 
Majesty some soup.” 

A portion of the broth is ladled out and car¬ 
ried to the High Seat. 

“No—no,” cries the young man, “I can not.” 

“Take just a bit of the fat,” pleads the earl. 

“No!” says the king. There are tears in his eyes. 

All gazed at Haakon. Everywhere he saw dis¬ 
appointed or angry glances. Some started to rise, 
bolder after the feasting, and made as though they 
would threaten him. 

“Come!” whispered the earl in distress, “this 
has gone too far. You will have to appease them.” 

King Haakon, the Christian, arose from his 
place, and went over to the caldron containing the 
offering to the false gods. He placed a napkin 
around the handle of an iron kettle filled with the 
soup, lifted it up and held his face over it as though 
he would inhale the vapor. Then he returned to 
the High Seat. 

The people regarded him, astonished. They 
did not understand. But the Earl Sigurd quickly 
diverted their attention to the banquet and another 
crisis was past. 

The autumn feast at the temple of Odin was 
over. The people returned to their various homes 


126 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


—mountain, island or country. But the confidence 
they felt in their King Haakon was less than it had 
been before. 

The winters are long in Norway and during the 
long silent evenings there is much time for thought. 
So it happened that the peasant on his farm, and 
the fisherman in his island home had time to dis¬ 
cuss their king and the strange manner in which 
he acted toward the gods of his fathers. And it 
was just at the time in the winter when the nights 
are longest that Asbern, the patriarch, called to¬ 
gether seven other important men from different 
parts of Trondhjem. 

“Do you know what our king is doing?” asked 
Asbern. “In spite of his promises he is encourag¬ 
ing this new religion. Now he has sent to Eng¬ 
land for some strange people called monks who, 
he expects, can destroy our gods. It is high time 
we showed this king which are really the false 
gods and which the true. Let us be true to those 
who have been true to us.” 

“Yes,” agreed the other seven. “It is time that 
this false belief be crushed!” 

A plan was then worked out, just such a plan 
as might be expected from eight high priests of 
the fierce Norse gods. Asbern with three of the 
others set sail on a special mission. The remain¬ 
ing four sought King Haakon who had followed 
Earl Sigurd to the Yuletide pagan festival. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 127 

Many peasants were gathered outside the king’s 
house. 

“The king! The king!” cried the multitude. 
“We wish the king to come out and sacrifice to our 
gods!” 

Meanwhile the four high priests came into the 
royal presence. Their manner was cold and dig¬ 
nified. 

“We bring you a message from the priests of 
your false religion, oh, King,” said the spokesman. 
“These monks from England are all dead. Their 
places of worship are burned. The wrath of our 
true gods through Asbern and our brother-priests, 
has fallen on these false prophets. What has King 
Haakon to say for his god?” 

Meanwhile there was much noise and commo¬ 
tion without. A sacrifice was being arranged. Al¬ 
ready a horse had been slaughtered and busy hands 
were preparing the carcass for cooking. 

“Let the king sacrifice with us! If Haakon will 
be our ruler he must sacrifice!” cried excited 
voices. 

Even Earl Sigurd could no longer stem the tide. 

“Come, Haakon,” he whispered. “This false 
faith stands between you and your kingdom. Come 
back to the people who love you, acknowledge the 
gods of your fathers!” 

Haakon, the Christian, bewildered and down¬ 
hearted, went out among his people. And he ate 


128 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


of the horse meat and drank the draughts to Odin, 
Frey and Tor without making the sign of the cross. 

“Long live our good King Haakon!” shouted the 
people, rejoicing. Sigurd, the clever earl, was the 
gladdest of them all. But a cloud had come over 
the sunny disposition of the once light-hearted 
king. He felt that the false gods had won. 


1 When Christianity continues to gain ground, Sigurd’s line, 
his son and grandson, remain staunch supporters of the old faith, 
as later stories will show. 

2 Asbern’s speech.—That such a speech, which stands here 
practically as it does in the original, could have been made in 
those days proves the Norsemen to have been probably the most 
advanced people in Europe, as to ideas of democracy and free¬ 
dom of thought. Of course, it is Snorra’s version but that 
makes it at least 700 years old. 



VIII 

ON THE WINGS OF AN ARROW 


Haakon the Good, King of 
Norway 

Harald Blue-Tooth, King of 
Denmark 

Erik Blood-Ax, Earl of 
Northumberland 


Sigurd, Earl of Trondhjem 
Harald, Erik’s son 
Other sons of Erik and Gun- 
hild 

Egil, a standard-bearer 
Eyvind, a skald 
Gunhild, the Witch-Queen 


Place: Norway, Northumberland and Denmark. 


N the wings of an arrow went out the call for 
^ war! The tiny weapons passed from hand to 
hand until all Norway knew by this sign that their 
good King Haakon was in need. On the wings 
of another arrow Death came riding through the 
air. 

Spare your mark, pale Gunhild, there is not 
another such as he in all the Far North. But Gun¬ 
hild, the Witch-Queen, has poisened the dart that 
she hopes will destroy King Haakon. 

“We must have back our kingdom of Norway!” 
cried Gunhild to her husband Erik Blood-Ax in 
their castle in Northumberland. “Even though 
the people have chosen your brother, you are their 
rightful king.” 

“But why are you not contented here?” ques¬ 
tioned the exiled ruler. “The King of England 
has given us this rich province on condition that 

129 


130 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


I help him defend his kingdom. That is task 
enough for one warrior.” 

“If you help England’s monarch, let him help 
us to recover Norway!” persisted the lady. “An 
exiled queen can not be content to remain an earl’s 
wife.” 

“Remember that England’s king is also a friend 
of my brother in Norway,” remonstrated Erik. 
“Be careful lest we lose what we already have.” 

But Gunhild continued to pine for her lost 
glories in Norway. In the evenings she would 
gather her eight growing children around her and 
tell tales of the beautiful province of Trondhjem 
lying by the deep blue fiord in the shadow of the 
snow-capped mountains. 

“That is your kingdom,” she would say to her 
seven sons. “There we shall find you a dower,” 
she would say to her daughter. 

And thus they grew up to believe that Norway 
was their rightful inheritance and longed to re¬ 
turn there. 

Meanwhile Gunhild goaded her husband, com¬ 
plaining that the family were poorly provided 
against the future. 

“An earldom may be well enough for you and 
me,” she repeated, “but what about our children 
who are growing up?” 

Erik Blood-Ax was a hard man, but Gunhild, 
his pale witch-wife, knew how to bend him. To 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 131 


increase her riches, Erik sailed out to strange 
lands, raided villages and brought back chests of 
booty, when he really should have been helping 
the king of England. The latter was a Christian 
and did not believe in wanton Viking raids, but 
although the earl and his wife also professed to 
be of the same faith, they regarded raiding as a 
proper gentleman’s sport. 

“And a very useful custom it is!” thought Gun- 
hild, as she sat safely in her Northumberland cas¬ 
tle and went over the piles of loot accumulating 
there. 

But Erik Blood-Ax went on one raid too many. 
While he was away, a new king came to England’s 
throne and he sent word to the lawless earl and his 
scheming wife that they must leave the country. 
Erik’s reply was to raid an English town. He 
realized his folly too late. His force was insuffi¬ 
cient. The people united against the invader. De¬ 
feat. The Bloody Ax had been wielded for the 
last time! 

Back to Northumberland sailed Erik’s defeated 
fleet and even Gunhild, the Witch-Queen, was 
overcome by the dreadful news of her husband’s 
death. The fine castle could be hers no longer; 
she had carried her game too far; ah, had she 
only been content with the earldom! Now she was 
again an exile and this time without her war-like 
Erik’s support—and with eight children! 


132 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


But she had at least the hoarded wealth from 
her husband’s raids as well as a goodly sum of 
money she had drained from the people with heavy 
taxes. These must be got aboard her ships at once. 
The new king of England would soon be send¬ 
ing after them and her. But he would send in 
vain! 

It was only a matter of hours before Gunhild 
was at sea, herself commander of her husband’s 
reckless crew. The treasure had been loaded 
aboard; her children were all with her. They 
sailed and sailed until they came to the Orkney 
Islands. 

A chieftain who saw the little fleet enter the 
harbor sent his son to inquire about the newcomers. 
A beautiful young girl met him on the shore—it 
was Gunhild’s daughter with the black hair, red 
lips and all the fascinating paleness of her mother 
as she had been when Erik first met her by the 
shores of the cold White Sea. The chieftain’s son 
was quite as charmed as Erik had been. The party 
had hardly more than been received at the chief¬ 
tain’s farm than the young man begged for the 
daughter’s hand. Here was unexpected assistance. 
The matter was finally arranged to everybody’s 
satisfaction and Gunhild with her seven sons set 
sail for Denmark. 

The king of Denmark was called Blue-Tooth. 1 
He was a very famous person, ambitious and 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 133 


crafty, and Gunhild had her reasons for seeking his 
protection. She knew where she could use her 
charms to the best advantage. Those gray-green 
eyes, those slender white hands and that clever 
tongue could persuade almost any mere man that 
their owner was a very worthy person. So why 
not try Blue-Tooth, the most powerful king in the 
Far North? 

It was not long before the Lady Gunhild was 
again installed in a fine castle. Her sons were 
treated like princely guests and given tutors at the 
court. They were all handsome like their father 
and clever like their mother. They made a fine 
impression. That their father had been cruel and 
that their mother was a witch—these were things 
that didn’t show in them—all at once. King Blue- 
Tooth took a special fancy to Gunhild’s third son, 
Harald, and finally adopted him. 

It happened as before. Fortune no sooner 
smiled on the exiled queen, than she began to long 
for still better things. Norway was her lost king¬ 
dom,—why should she be dependent on the charity 
of any foreign king? She satisfied her longing by 
telling her sons tales of Trondhjem and stimulat¬ 
ing their fancy and avarice. 

“Norway is your kingdom!” she would cry, 
clenching her small hands and rising in her en¬ 
thusiasm. “Woe be to your uncle who has taken 
it from you!” 


134 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


As the sons grew older they began to take the 
matter seriously. 

“Why indeed should our mother sit here, a de¬ 
pendent,” said they, “when we could perhaps 
avenge her disgrace.” 

They talked about it to their friends. Warriors 
who happened to seek those shores were also told 
about the matter and having once discussed it with 
Gunhild, each was quite sure that she was a much- 
wronged lady. Thus a considerable number of 
people began to take the pale queen’s interests very 
much to heart. 

The uncle of the exiled princes was meanwhile 
having difficulties at home. Haakon, King of 
Norway, was a good Christian and had tried to 
convert the people to his belief but had failed. 
Instead, the pagan worshipers at Trondhjem had 
forced him to sacrifice to their own gods, and in 
chagrin he had retired to another province to live. 

Then came the news. An army of Gunhild’s re¬ 
tainers had sailed over from Denmark and con¬ 
quered the province of Viken in Norway. The 
governor of Viken had fled 2 and the army was al¬ 
ready on its way north to capture Trondhjem with 
one of Gunhild’s sons as leader. 

Gunhild herself was not with the army. No, in¬ 
deed. She expected her side to win, of course, but 
if they should happen to lose, it would be intoler- 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 135 

able to be a captive in a land where one had been 
queen! 

On the wings of an arrow went out the call to 
arms. That was the custom in the Far North; the 
tiny weapons were passed from hand to hand until 
all Norway knew that their king was in danger 
and rose to support him. Even the inhabitants of 
Trondhjem mustered under the leadership of the 
pagan Earl Sigurd to defend the king who had 
brought prosperity to the land. Religious differ¬ 
ences were forgotten. 

Gunhild’s sons had been brought up to believe 
their uncle to be a wicked person and thought it 
would not be difficult to regain the lost kingdom. 
But they soon found that the people were true to 
Haakon while they called Gunhild “the Witch- 
Queen.” It was a hard blow—not only to their 
dreams but to their army. Gunhild’s forces were 
absolutely beaten. Her second son lay dead on the 
battle-field, while the others hurried back with the 
bitter news. 

“Norway shall be ours, Haakon’s day of defeat 
will come!” cried the disappointed woman, clench¬ 
ing her small white hands. But for the present 
there was nothing more to do about it. 

King Haakon had been completely surprised at 
this attack. He had practically forgotten all about 
Gunhild and her children, being absorbed by his 
other interests. But now it was plain that he must 


136 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


be on his guard. The arrow system had saved 
the country but it had taken weeks before the 
whole land had received the message, for Norway 
stretches over a great distance and many districts 
are made more inaccessible by the high mountains. 
Haakon therefore arranged another system of sig¬ 
nals which was an improvement over the arrow 
method. This was by fires. A fire lighted on one 
mountain could send its light to another mountain 
much quicker than the arrows could travel. From 
this mountain the message could be com¬ 
municated to one farther on by another fire. It 
was discovered that in seven days the whole coun¬ 
try could be called to arms by means of the fire- 
signals, and so it was arranged that if another at¬ 
tack was ever made from any direction, this system 
should be started to summon the other parts of the 
land to assist. It seemed a splendid idea. 3 

The people of Norway returned to the peaceful 
pursuits which they had been learning to follow 
under Haakon’s benevolent rule. They did not 
however feel at ease as before. They had become 
uncomfortably aware of the pale, designing witch- 
queen and they feared her more now that they 
realized she had six stalwart sons to help her. 
When would the next attempt be made? All eyes 
and thoughts turned toward Denmark. Gunhild 
was there, they knew. Gunhild and her sons. 

One morning a strange fleet was seen in the mists 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 137 


off the coast. The report spread through the near¬ 
by district and the excitement was tremendous. So 
Gunhild would again attempt to regain her king¬ 
dom? A mighty pyre was erected on the highest 
hill and the warning was passed on by the in¬ 
habitants farther north who lighted another fire. 
With the swiftness of the fire-light, the message 
spread over the land and in seven days the whole 
country was again arming itself, and legionsTrom 
the different provinces were swarming down the 
fiords and over the mountain passes to support 
King Haakon. But Haakon did not need their 
support! The mysterious fleet had been nothing 
more than a few fishing boats in a fog. It had 
been a false alarm. However, it was no easy thing 
to stop the movement once started. New legions 
constantly assembled along the sea, only to be in¬ 
formed that there was no occasion for alarm. It 
was altogether a stupid affair. 

The legions disbanded; the sturdy yeomen re¬ 
turned to their homes. But they had not long been 
occupied with their peaceful pursuits before the 
warning fires were again blazing from hill to hill, 
Again the excitement. Again the arming of the 
whole population, with legions collecting along 
the coast to protect the country from attack. And 
again the fiasco. Another nervous person thought 
he had seen an enemy fleet where no enemy fleet 
existed. 


138 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


When the same mistake was made a third time, 
the good king, disgusted with the misuse of his 
signals, ordered a large fine to be paid by the men 
who had started the false alarm. This put an end 
to the signaling. So the years went by; there were 
no more danger messages flashed from mountain to 
mountain and no need of them. Thus Gunhild and 
her sons were gradually again forgotten. 

But Gunhild had not forgotten Norway. She 
longed for her lost honors but she knew enough 
to bide her time. While she heard that the coun¬ 
try was on the lookout for an attack, she made 
none. As soon as she heard that she was being 
forgotten in her home land, she began to agitate 
for another invasion. 

This time she even enlisted King Blue-Tooth’s 
help. A whole army of Danes was placed at the 
charming lady’s disposition. And one fine day a 
tremendous force stood as if by magic on Norway’s 
coast under the leadership of Gunhild’s oldest son! 
The inhabitants of the nearest fishing village fled 
in terror. There was not even time to build a fire, 
for those who dallied were soon disposed of. King 
Haakon himself had only a small armed force 
with him when he heard the news. 

“Shall we not sail north until we can assemble 
some kind of an army?” he asked of the leader of 
the guard that always surrounded him. 

Then Egil, an aged standard-bearer, spoke: 



The warning fires were again blazing from hill to hill. 












STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 139 


“Many a fight have I fought by the side of your 
father, Harald Fair-Hair, oh, King. Sometimes 
he fought with a larger force, sometimes with a 
smaller, but he always won. Never did he ask 
his friends whether he should fly! Therefore, we 
would rather not give you such advice. For twenty 
years you have ruled us as a brave chieftain. Every 
one will support you. Let us make a stand.” 

The others agreed and so out sped the war ar¬ 
rows as of old—to assemble as many as could be 
reached before Gunhild’s army attacked them. 

Gunhild’s sons had expected to take their uncle 
completely by surprise, but by the time both sides 
were ranged up in battle array King Haakon had 
assembled a considerable force. Still the legion 
that came swarming from Gunhild’s twenty ships 
numbered many more trained fighting men, and 
the prospects did not look bright for Norway’s 
king. 

The enemy attacked fiercely and Haakon’s force 
must give way. Gunhild’s sons followed eagerly. 
Confident of an easy victory, and advancing over 
the plain, they came quite a distance from their 
ships. 

Suddenly at the top of a hill, to the right of the 
contending forces, came a row of waving banners 
flashing the colors of King Haakon. This was 
most unexpected, for a force with so many stan¬ 
dard-bearers could cut off Gunhild’s army from its 


140 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


ships and attack it in the rear. Gunhild’s eldest 
son, Gamla, who was a daring leader, directed his 
attention to the newcomers and advanced toward 
the hill. But the Danes in his army did not under¬ 
stand the maneuver and fell back to their ships. 

Gamla led a charge up the hill but on reaching 
the top he discovered he had been tricked. The 
waving manners were borne by ten men only; there 
was no army behind them. But the old warrior 
Egil who had planned the ruse, rushed on the sur¬ 
prised Gamla and gave him his death blow. 

“Ah,” cried Egil, the old pagan, “I feared I 
should die of old age in my bed while the long 
peace lasted. Greater is the honor to follow my 
lord and fall in the fight.” 

And Egil gained the coveted death of a Viking 
—to die in battle—for Gamla also dealt him his 
death blow. 

In the meantime King Haakon came between 
the divided army of Gamla and easily routed the 
part that had followed him up the hill. Now 
came a wild flight, but all Gunhild’s sons, save 
Gamla, reached the boats, and though defeated, 
sailed back to Denmark and Gunhild. 

When her sons returned to their pale queen- 
mother, they saw streaks of gray in her raven locks. 
“Defeated?” she cried. “And Gamla fallen? It 
is not possible!” She mused long over the tidings, 
silent with clenched white hands. “Well,” she ex- 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 141 


claimed at last, “I have still five sons—and Norway 
shall be mine!” 

Six years went by—peaceful years for Norway 
and again all fear of the witch-queen, Gunhild, 
died away. During those six years Gunhild was 
watching her next oldest boy and having him 
trained in all the arts of war. This third son was 
Harald, most promising of them all and the 
favorite of King Blue-Tooth. When Harald final¬ 
ly became the hardened leader Gunhild wanted, 
her standard was again set up, and, strangely 
enough, a greater force of admirers flocked around 
it than before. But this time, the witch-queen was 
not trusting alone to the force of arms; the black 
arts were to be summoned. With the army went 
a trusted page who carried an arrow dipped in a 
mysterious and deadly poison. 

One day while King Haakon sat at breakfast, his 
watchmen on a near-by cliff saw a strange fleet 
loom out of the mists. Nothing, however, caused 
so great displeasure to their lord as a false alarm, 
and the watchmen were afraid to tell him. In¬ 
stead, therefore, they informed Eyvind, the court 
bard who had been entertaining the company, and 
he quickly put the news into a song. 

Haakon ordered the table at once removed and 
went himself to the cliff from whence he saw a 
mighty array of Viking ships. Once more the 
winged arrows passed from hand to hand calling 


142 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


all loyal men of Norway to defend their king. 
And once more the good king soon found himself 
supported by a considerable army. But this time, 
the forces gathered by Gunhild were so superior 
that they outnumbered Haakon’s by six to one. 

A royal fight indeed it was! On the one hand 
stood Gunhild’s daredevil son, Harald, leading a 
mighty host confident of victory; on the other 
hand stood Haakon the beloved king of his people, 
supported by a brave, desperate and loyal band. 

King Haakon is most easily recognized of all the 
warriors for he wears a helmet of gold and swings 
his famous sword Kvernbit . The fight rages thick¬ 
est around him and time and again he is in danger. 

His best warriors keep always at his side trying 
to relieve the increasing pressure, but he seeks ever 
the most dangerous point of the fight. Finally 
Eyvind, the skald, throws a hat over the king’s 
golden helmet to render him less conspicuous. 

Then cries one of Gunhild’s mightiest warriors: 
“Has the king of Norway hidden himself or fled? 
Where is his golden helmet?” 

“Come this way,” shouts Haakon, “if you will 
find Norway’s king.” 

The warrior came and found not only King 
Haakon, but Death. Now Haakon leads his 
legion like a superman. Many a Dane stops, 
startled, to gaze at this triumphant figure, pressing 
forward swiftly and surely as did Odin in the old 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 143 


days. Perhaps it is indeed Odin? Some of the 
enemy are Christians but the very thought of that 
avenging Norse deity returning to defend one of 
his last strongholds makes the blood chill in their 
veins. Gunhild’s army suddenly finds itself in 
flight. 

In the confusion, a young page with the fleeing 
army, stops, turns and draws his bow. 

“Make way for Haakon’s death blow!” he cries, 
and sends an arrow singing toward the shining 
figure pressing after them. The arrow found 
home in the arm of Norway’s king. At least so 
some say, but others maintain that among the ar¬ 
rows that fell thick as a snow-storm, it is impos¬ 
sible to determine whence the fatal dart came. 

But fatal indeed the arrow proved to be. The 
enemy had fled, but the hero who had rallied his 
countrymen and inspired them to victory, lay pin¬ 
ing with a hurt that would not heal. All known 
remedies were tried while a steady stream of blood 
trickled from the wound and King Haakon be¬ 
came weaker and weaker. 

He called his friends to him. 

“If I live,” said he, “I shall leave my kingdom 
and seek Christian lands, there to atone for my 
sins against the true God. But if I die here in 
heathendom, bury me, my friends, as you think 
best and after your own custom.” 

Haakon, the idol of his people, the king with the 


144 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


sunny hair, the glad smile and the noble heart, was 
not to go from his people to other lands. He must 
depart, it is true, but he had fallen defending the 
rights of his countrymen, and so they were sure 
that he would come to Aasgaard, the mystical city 
of the gods where Odin would receive him. 

Meanwhile a courier was sent after Gunhild’s 
fleeing ships, with this message from the dying 
king: 

“Return to Norway. I have no son and no one 
has a better right to the kingdom than the sons 
of my brother Erik. I commend my people to 
your care and only ask that you be kind and just 
to them.” 

With unbounded joy, the Lady Gunhild re¬ 
ceived the death-message of her husband’s brother 
and made preparations to leave for Norway. It 
was nearly thirty years since she had left that land 
a young exiled queen; now after a varied life of 
adventure and intrigue, she found herself again 
first lady of Norway, a middle-aged woman with 
grown sons. 

Poor Norway! It had yet to learn that her 
powers for mischief-making had not lessened with 
the years. 

Meanwhile that which was left of the good king 
—the physical part of him—was clad in full armor 
and laid in state on a hill. The heathen rites com¬ 
mending his soul to Valhalla were held and both 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 145 


friends and enemies, it is said, wept and agreed 
that so good a king would never come again to 
Norway. 

Eyvind, his faithful skald, described the coming 
of Haakon to the gods in a song which was sung 
all over the Far North and is still repeated by the 
children of to-day. Part of the song runs thus: 

KING HAAKON S WELCOME TO VALHALLA 

Odin sent two Valkyries bold 

To choose from the god-sprung kings, 

Which, in Valhalla should join his fold— 

They sped on the storm’s wild wings. 

Haakon, in armor (ever-glad King!) 

With golden helmet stands; 

Beloved of his people, brave and true, 

He goes to defend their lands. 

The heaven is like a shield of blood, 

Spears whistle on every side; 

And over the battle where heroes fall 
The wild war-maidens ride. 

“Ho!” cries one, as she shakes her spear, 

“The bravest and best seek we!” 

King Haakon looked, and lo! he rode 
In the war-maids’ company. 

“We fight for that which is true,” cries he, 

“Will the gods not let us win?” 

“You’ve won, brave King—your enemies flee— 
Now, Odin welcomes you in!” 


146 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


There on the field, so pale, so pale, 

With a cruel death-wound he pines; 

When lo! through the gloom a wondrous light 
From a heavenly portal shines. 

The war-maidens bear him gently up 
And there ’neath Valhalla’s dome, 

Brave comrades greet him from other days, 

And the All-Father takes him home. 

The great Wolf Fenris 1 2 3 4 shall break his bond 
And the whole world overwhelm, 

Ere Haakon’s like will again be found 
To rule o’er the Norsemen’s realm. 

Waste lies the land and many die 
While others in slavery strain, 

Since Haakon went to the great Norse Gods 
And will never return again. 

1 “He is the first Danish king that steps clearly forth before 
us as an historical character. His great personality has made 
itself deeply felt in our development,” writes the Danish his¬ 
torian Fabricius. He was called “Blue-Tooth,” because he had 
black teeth. His rune stones are still to be seen. His bones 
are now walled up in a church pillar on which a crude por¬ 
trait of him is painted. This church (Denmark’s Westminster 
Abbey) is still a famous sight, being situated at Roskilde, which 
was the capital of Denmark in Blue-Tooth’s time, the ancient 
Leidra having long since lost its importance. 

2 This was Trygva, “a prince of the line of Frey.” See the 
tale of The Flight of Astrid. 

3 Every year on Midsummer night, the people of Norway 

now commemorate Haakon’s famous system of fire-signals by 



STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 147 


gathering on the tops of the hills and mountains and signaling 
to one another with great bon-fires. One can often see a dozen 
fires at a time. 

4 When this wolf breaks its bonds, according to Norse belief, 
the end of the world (Ragnarok) will come. 


IX 

THE FLIGHT OF ASTRID 


Trygva, Governor of Viken 
Olaf, Trygva’s son 
Torolfy an aged counselor 
Klerkon, a pirate 
The Princes of Norway 
(Gunhild’s sons) 


The King of Sweden 
The Father and Brother of 
Astrid 

Astrid} wife of Trygva 
Gunhild, the Witch-Queen 


Place: The province of Viken , 2 Norway; also Sweden and 
Esthonia. 


A STRID was young, Astrid was fair and As- 
^ trid loved her husband above all else in the 
world. Poor Astrid, how she wept! For her hus¬ 
band was about to leave her to go on a Viking 
expedition with his cousins, the princes of Norway. 
But it was not for her own sake she wept. 

“Can’t you see, Trygva,” sobbed the young wife, 
“that the whole idea springs from Gunhild, the 
Queen-Mother? Here is her seal on the letter. 
I am sure she only wants to lure you from your 
province to do away with you; then she will turn 
Viken over to one of her lazy sons.” 

The young chieftain tried to soothe his lady 
with encouraging words. 

“Never fear, Astrid, I shall come back,” he 
said. “My aunt Gunhild has so few friends, she 
can not afford to lose our support. But if we anger 
her, she might take Viken anyway.” 

148 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 149 


“Don’t trust her,” pleaded the wife. “She is a 
witch and you, a prince of the line of Frey, are a 
living menace to her sons.” 

But Trygva was no coward. He fitted out his 
ship and in spite of Astrid’s protests sailed down 
the fiord to meet his cousins. 

Heavy at heart was the fair wife, left behind in 
Viken. She tried to become absorbed in the in¬ 
terests of the household, but her thoughts wan¬ 
dered out after her husband. She gave herself up 
to thoughts of the little child whose arrival was 
soon expected, but even this great event faded to 
insignificance in the shadow of her ever present 
fear. 

Many days had not passed before a messenger 
came in haste to Astrid. 

“Woe to the house of Trygva!” 3 cried the mes¬ 
senger, “woe to his followers and friends! When 
your husband came to meet his cousins, the base 
sons of Gunhild felled him to the ground. He 
lies on the beach with twelve of his men—all dead. 
My Lady Astrid must flee for the wrath of Gun¬ 
hild has fallen on us.” 

For some time the bereaved wife sat dazed by 
the news. Then Torolf, the aged counselor who 
had known Astrid since her childhood, came and 
laid a kind hand on hers. 

“Come, Astrid,” said he gently, “we must seek 
a safer spot than Viken. Think of Trygva’s child. 


150 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


If a son is bom you may be sure that Gunhild 
will want him out of the way.” 

Astrid, with Torolf’s help, gathered together 
such valuables as they could carry and that night 
left Trygva’s house. It was not a moment too soon. 
The very next day two of Gunhild’s sons came in 
search of Trygva’s wife. But no one could tell 
them whither she had gone. 

Astrid in the meantime set out to return to her 
father who was a rich land-owner up country. 
But the way was long and the lady found herself 
too weak to travel far. One evening the party 
stopped on the shore of a little mountain lake. 
When day dawned, they saw an island in the lake 
and as they feared discovery, they hid themselves 
on the island. 

Here Astrid became the mother of a son. Torolf 
poured water on the child’s head, 4 and called him 
Olaf after his grandfather. The mother took the 
new-born babe in her arms and held him up to the 
gray-bearded man. “My little boy has no father,” 
said she, with tears in her sad eyes. “I place him 
in your care, Torolf, for you have been as a father 
to me. If anything should happen I trust you 
will never fail Olaf, Trygva’s son.” 

“Indeed I never shall,” answered Torolf warm¬ 
ly. “You may depend upon me, Astrid, as you 
have always done.” And he kept his promise to 
the day of his dreadful death. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 151 


All through the summer, with its light northern 
nights, Astrid did not dare leave the island, but 
when the days became shorter, she set out, travel¬ 
ing by night and hiding by day until she reached 
her father’s home. She did not dare herself ap¬ 
proach the house but sent a messenger to summon 
her father to come where she was waiting. Her 
father, delighted to see his daughter of whom 
nothing had been heard for a long time, realized 
however the danger of receiving her. News of 
her coming must never reach Gunhild, the Queen- 
Mother. He therefore arranged for Astrid to live 
quietly in a near-by cottage, and here she spent 
the winter, comfortably and undisturbed. 

Gunhild questioned her sons very carefully 
when they told her that Astrid could not be found 
in Viken. The pale queen-mother was vexed that 
they had only been able to kill Trygva. 

“They say that Astrid has a child,” said Gun¬ 
hild. “If it is a boy, he may be dangerous to us, 
for he is a prince of the line of Frey.” 

But that fall and winter Gunhild found it nec¬ 
essary to give her attention to other things, 5 and for 
the time the search for Astrid was abandoned. 
Trygva’s widow had just begun to hope that she 
was forgotten, when, in the spring, Gunhild’s 
scouts were again sent out to see if they could find 
any trace of the unfortunate lady. 

Friends came to Astrid’s father one evening in 


152 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


great excitement. It was rumored that Gunhild 
had discovered the hiding-place of Astrid and her 
son and was now sending an escort to fetch them a 
That same night a troubled father prepared his 
daughter for another flight, for he knew that all 
his wealth and influence would avail nothing 
against the demands of the queen-mother. 

“I fear, my daughter,” said he sadly, “that there 
is no place in Norway where you can be safe. I 
shall therefore send you to an old friend of mine 
in Sweden. I am giving you the best guides, and 
may the great gods protect you on your journey!” 

In the early morning Astrid, with her baby Olaf, 
her faithful friend, Torolf, and a party of guides 
left her father’s house. The same morning an im¬ 
posing escort of thirty well-armed men came from 
the queen-mother to ask for Astrid. 

“She is not here,” said her father briefly. “You 
may see for yourself.” The soldiers searched the 
house and farm and spent a great part of the day 
inquiring about the fugitives. They finally ob¬ 
tained a hint as to the facts. Think!—Astrid had 
only just left the place; she could easily be over¬ 
taken! And so the escort set off in hot pursuit. 

That evening some of the hunters came to the 
house of a rich peasant and inquired whether any 
strangers had passed that way. 

“Yes,” answered the man who was miserly and 
bad-humored. “Some people begged me for a 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS U% 


night’s lodging but I would have none of them. 
They are in the neighborhood, no doubt.” 

A laborer who was passing, heard the questions 
of Gunhild’s men. On reaching home he told his 
master how the country was being searched for 
Astrid and her son. The peasant was greatly 
frightened. He had just given lodging to some 
strangers who might be the suspected persons. 
They were, to be sure, poorly clad and had given 
other names but the peasant would not risk incur¬ 
ring the ire of the queen-mother. It was late but 
he went to his guests at once and told them sharply 
to be gone. 

The weary mother—for it was Astrid, disguised 
in rags—with her baby and the faithful Torolf 
went on their way in the dull gray morning light. 
The peasant, looking down the road after their 
halting figures, felt a wave of sympathy and fol¬ 
lowed after. 

“I must tell you,” he called, “that spies from 
Queen Gunhild are seeking the Lady Astrid. If 
you know anything about her, you had best avoid 
them.” 

“But how can we avoid them?” cried Astrid. 
“We have no more food and no longer know our 
way.” 

The kindly peasant sent for food, and fur¬ 
nished them a guide to show the path. It was now 
too light to risk going far and on reaching a lake 


154 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


where there was an island covered with rushes, the 
guide advised them to hide there until the follow¬ 
ing evening. They accordingly waded out to the 
island. 

A band of Gunhild’s spies met the guide as he 
was returning from the wood. “In the name of 
the queen-mother,” they demanded, “we ask you 
about the Lady Astrid.” 

The guide said that some people had spent part 
of the night at a neighboring peasant’s house but 
had departed through the woods at dawn. It 
might have been the lady with her following, al¬ 
though they were not clad like gentle folk. 

“Which way did they take?” inquired the 
hunters eagerly. 

“They went in this direction,” answered the 
guide, “I will follow you part of the way.” 

So he led them forward but in the opposite di¬ 
rection from Astrid’s island. Once the huntsmen 
had found a new trail, they thanked the farmer 
and set off at a gallop. They sought their prey in 
vain the whole afternoon, and at night-time were 
far from their goal. The next day they were 
equally unsuccessful and finally had to return to 
Gunhild, saying that Astrid could not be found. 

The pale queen-mother stamped her foot and 
clenched her slender white hands: 

“You have managed badly,” she cried. “I want¬ 
ed to adopt the boy.” 



The weary mother and the faithful Torolf went on their way in the 
dull gray morning light. 


























STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 155 


But the child was beyond her clutches; Astrid 
had managed to come to Sweden. Her father's 
friend, a wealthy nobleman, received the fugitives 
most kindly. In pleasant surroundings on his es¬ 
tate, the Lady Astrid, her child Olaf and the aged 
Torolf spent two peaceful years. 

Meanwhile the scheming queen-mother could 
not forget the exiled Astrid and her son. The 
more power Gunhild acquired, the greater grew 
her thirst for power. Her active brain and guilty 
conscience gave her no rest and as long as there 
remained a person on earth whom she feared, she 
left no stone unturned in her efforts to destroy him. 
The child Olaf was a prince of the ancient line of 
Frey. Gunhild felt sure that he would be nursed 
by a mother whose one thought was revenge. Had 
not she in exile nursed her own sons with the same 
thought? Her spies had brought news that Astrid 
was in Sweden, but at first Gunhild did not think 
of trying to reach her there. However, the fear 
that Olaf might grow to manhood and stir up re¬ 
volt in Viken, became more than she could bear. 
She must get hold of the child! 

It was an imposing embassy that came from 
Gunhild, the Queen-Mother, to the king of 
Sweden. Elegant gifts were laid on the royal table 
and a spokesman with a tongue as smooth as Gun- 
hild’s own, paid flattering tribute to the king. The 
Swedish ruler, complimented by these attentions, 


156 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


entertained the ambassador at a banquet. When 
the feast was at its height and all were in good 
humor, Gunhild’s spokesman said: 

“Her Majesty has just one favor to ask of 
Sweden’s noble sovereign.” 

“What is that?” asked the king. “I shall be 
glad if possible to oblige your charming queen.” 

“A little child has been brought to Sweden by its 
mother,” continued the spokesman. “This child 
is Olaf, son of Trygva, who was Gunhild’s nephew. 
My mistress wishes to take this child as a foster- 
son and begs your help in arranging the matter.” 

“This should be easy to arrange,” said the Swed¬ 
ish king. “Olaf and his mother are the guests of 
one of my noblemen who I am sure will assist 
you.” 

And so the king sent an escort of his own men 
to accompany Gunhild’s ambassador to the noble¬ 
man’s house. The spokesman used his smoothest 
words in explaining how he had come for the 
child. The nobleman answered in a similar tone. 

“The child is not mine,” he said, “but Astrid’s. 
If the lady wishes to send her child to the queen- 
mother,—very well.” 

“Never shall the witch-queen have my son!” 
blazed forth Astrid. “I would die to prevent it!” 

“You see,” explained the nobleman, “Olaf’s 
mother is unwilling to give up her son. I fear I 
can do nothing more.” 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 157 

And the ambassador had to leave without the 
child. 

The next evening the family was assembled 
around the fireside, when there came a tremendous 
rapping at the gate. Astrid sprung up, grasping 
her little son, for she had come to fear every noise. 
A servant opened the door and from the darkness 
without, there came the gleam of armor. Then 
Gunhild’s spokesman, fully-armed, stepped into 
the firelight. 

“We do not beg this time,” said he insolently. 
“We come to take Olaf, son of Trygva, whether his 
mother will or no.” 

With a rattle of spears and shields, a stalwart 
guard stepped into the room, each wearing the 
badge of the king of Sweden. Gunhild’s clever 
spokesman had persuaded the king to believe in 
the witch-queen’s cause. 

The nobleman was speechless. 

“There is the lad,” said the spokesman, advanc¬ 
ing toward the frightened woman who had drawn 
her son into a corner. 

A gigantic form loomed from the shadows and 
crossed into the firelight, barring the ambassador’s 
way. It was one of the nobleman’s slaves who for 
two years had been attached to the mother and 
child. 

“You reach them only over my body!” exclaimed 
the slave. 


158 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


With which he began making frightful faces 
and threatening gestures so that the startled spokes¬ 
man fell back. The Swedish guard made no move 
to help Gunhild’s insolent intruder. It was plain 
he had little sympathy, even among them. 

The slave made more grimaces and the spokes¬ 
man stepped back through the door, while the 
king’s guard followed him. No sooner were they 
out than the slave slammed the great gate in their 
faces. Gunhild’s ambassador was defeated. Too 
ashamed to appeal to the king of Sweden he re¬ 
turned to the queen-mother, reporting that his mis¬ 
sion had been a failure. 

Gunhild’s face was white as death, but her gray- 
green eyes shot fire as she clenched her fragile 
hands. 

“Every day that child spends with his mother 
increases our danger,” cried she. “But I shall yet 
live to foster the dear little Olaf!” she added, her 
blood-red lips parting in a forced smile. 

Astrid, the fair, the unfortunate, lay weeping 
on a couch in the home of her protector. 

“What shall I do?” she sobbed to the aged 
Torolf. “There is no place in the world where 
we can find peace.” 

“Gunhild is a terrible enemy,” answered her 
friend, with sympathy. “But granted that one 
enemy, you have many that love you.” 

“And none has been a truer friend than you, 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 159 


Torolf,” answered the unhappy mother, taking his 
great, kind hand. 

But it was true: that in all the Far North, it 
seemed, there was not one place where she, a help¬ 
less widow, might hide herself. Like a spider with 
a thousand eyes, Gunhild sat and weaved her web, 
with the sole intent of imprisoning one little vic¬ 
tim—Astrid’s son. And Astrid reviewed in her 
mind the terrible things that had been said of the 
queen-mother, the things she had accomplished by 
those black arts she had learned from the Finns. 
Had not Halfdan, the Black, died after drinking 
one of her mystical potions? Had she not caused 
the death of Halfdan’s brother Olaf; of Olaf’s son 
Trygva? 

And now her arts were to be concentrated on the 
third generation—another Olaf, the son of another 
Trygva. Was it not Gunhild who poisoned the 
arrow that brought death to Haakon the Good? 
How that kind king would have grieved had he 
known the misery brought by the witch-queen to 
his unhappy land! Even Eyvind, his faithful 
skald who sang his master’s praises, had received 
a death sentence because Gunhild’s jealous ears 
could not bear to hear those songs. 

Night and day Astrid went over the list' of Gun¬ 
hild’s victims. No, the name of her little Olaf 
should never be inscribed among them, not if she 
must flee with him to the world’s end! And so 


160 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


Astrid came to think of her own brother, the idol 
of her early youth, who had wandered to strange 
lands and settled in Gardarika. Why not seek 
his protection? Across dangerous seas to that re¬ 
mote kingdom even Gunhild’s spies would hardly 
follow. Yes, the young mother would leave Swe¬ 
den and take her little son to her brother, in Gar¬ 
darika. 

Astrid’s protector made every arrangement for 
her journey. Passage was secured on a merchant 
ship and a military escort was sent with her. The 
seas in those days swarmed with lawless raiders 
that often attacked and robbed merchant ships. 

Once on board, Astrid breathed in a sense of 
freedom from the salt breezes. Every mile the 
vessel sped eastward increased the distance be¬ 
tween her and her dreaded enemy. The pressure 
of years lightened and the mother’s hope fresh¬ 
ened with the winds as she held her child to her 
heart and thought of the new land where both 
would find a welcome and protection. 

Alas, it was not to be! A new danger awaited 
the exiles. Over the foam came a little ship fly¬ 
ing a pirate flag. 

“What have we there?” shouts Klerkon, the sea- 
rover as he points toward Astrid’s vessel. 

It is a well-stocked merchant ship! The pirates 
bring up alongside it. There is a brief struggle, 
but the rovers are a fierce band of wretches and 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 161 


soon overpower the guard and gain complete con¬ 
trol of the vessel. 

“Here is a rich booty of slaves,” cries Klerkon. 
“See this strong little fellow!” he adds, attempting 
to seize Olaf who retreats toward his mother. 

“Stop!” cries Torolf. “Leave that child alone!” 
And he attempts to force Klerkon back. 

“Hear the old man!” laughs Klerkon. “And 
what are you good for? You are too old to be a 
slave.” 

With that he strikes him with his ax. 

Torolf lay on the ground, quite still. 

“Torolf! Torolf!” cried the frightened child, 
pulling at the old man’s cloak. But Torolf did 
not move. A dull dark stream dyed the venerable 
beard. A perplexed look of grief and anger came 
into the child’s eyes. 

“Mother,” cried the little Olaf, and turned to 
where Astrid had stood. She was nowhere to be 
found! Sailors were running hither and thither; 
the cargo was being divided among the robbers; 
all was in the wildest confusion. 

“Come!” commanded Klerkon, picking up the 
lad. “I shall get a bargain for a sturdy little 
Norseman like you.” 

On shore there was a busy market-place where 
many people were trading. 

“Here is a bargain,” cried Klerkon to a mer¬ 
chant. “What will you give me for this one?” 


162 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


“I’ll trade you a ram for him,” answered the 
merchant. 

So Olaf was sold into slavery. 

Later a peasant spied the little fellow sitting 
asleep by the trader’s stall. 

“Will you buy him?” asked the merchant. 

“How much?” inquired the peasant. 

“Give me that cloak and you get him cheap in 
exchange,” replied the trader. The cloak was 
given and the bargain concluded. 

The peasant took Olaf home and there the boy 
lived many years, being treated kindly by the man 
and his wife who were prosperous farmers. Then 
one day came a great ambassador into Esthonia to 
collect taxes. Esthonia was the country where 
Olaf had been sold and the people there paid taxes 
to the king of Gardarika. 

As the ambassador and his followers passed 
across the market-place, there gathered a curious 
crowd of onlookers, among whom was the lad 
Olaf. 

“Who is that child?” asked the great man, point¬ 
ing to Olaf. “He does not belong here.” 

“No,” answered one; “that is a slave from Nor¬ 
way.” 

“How did he come here as a slave?” 

“He was sold from a captured ship,” answered 
the informer. “But they say he is of a royal family. 
His mother’s name was Astrid.” 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 163 


“Astrid!” exclaimed the great man excitedly. 
“And where is his mother now?” 

No one could tell him. 

“My sister’s son!” exclaimed the ambassador to 
himself, for he did not dare to let the people 
know. 

“How did you come here, my lad?” he asked 
kindly. And Olaf, inspired by his gentleness, told 
the story as he remembered it. 

“But your mother?” 

Olaf could only shake his head. 

“After they killed Torolf, I never saw her 
again.” 

The great man’s eyes dimmed as he thought of 
his pretty little sister, the playmate of boyhood 
days, and her unhappy fate. Then he took his 
nephew to the peasant and paid a handsome price 
for the lad’s freedom. 

Thus Olaf came finally to his uncle in Gar- 
darika. It seemed as though the gods themselves 
had helped carry out the poor mother’s wish. But 
what had become of Astrid, Olaf and his uncle 
were unable to learn. 


Pronounced As-tree. 

2 Viken, a seat of early Norse culture, was the beautiful and 
fertile province at the end of the fiord where Christiania, the 
capital of Norway, now lies. The derivation of the name is 
the same as that of Viking; the word means the inlet. 



164 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 

3 Trygva’s grandfather, Olaf, was made Governor of Viken 
by Olaf’s father, Harald Fair-Hair. See the chart of Queen 
Ragnhild's Dream Tree. 

4 Baptism was in those days a heathen ceremony. 

5 See the following tale —The Struggle for Trondhjem. 


X 

THE STRUGGLE FOR TRONDHJEM 


Haakon, Earl of Trondhjem 
Harald Gray Pelt, eldest son 
of Queen Gunhild 
Four other Princes, Gunhild’s 
sons 


Harald Blue-Tooth, King of 
Denmark 

Gold-Harald, nephew of King 
Blue-Tooth 

Gunhild, Queen of Norway 


Place: The district of Trondhjem in Norway, and Denmark. 


A WAY to the north of Europe amid bleak cliffs 
and bare rocks lies one of the most charming 
places in the world. A tongue of blue water cuts 
into Norway’s rugged coast; mountains shield this 
inlet from the cruel God of the North Wind; the 
gulf stream feeds the fiord and softens the climate 
and there under arctic skies cherries ripen in the 
orchards and young girls grow to womanhood, tall, 
fair and beautiful. Such is Trondhjem, the north¬ 
ern paradise, and such it was in the days when the 
clever Earl Haakon 1 ruled there and struggled 
with Queen Gunhild for its possession. 

And how Gunhild longed to do away with Earl 
Haakon! She was now rid of every one else that 
threatened her power, and she had given the dif¬ 
ferent parts of Norway to her five lazy sons. She 
had tried to get Trondhjem, too, and had caused 
Earl Haakon’s poor father Sigurd to be burned 
alive in his house, but this had only angered the 

165 


166 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


Trondhjem people who chose the popular son to 
rule instead and would have nothing to do with 
the witch-queen. 

Gunhild’s pale face became paler every time 
she thought of Trondhjem. 

“Does Gunhild rule in Norway or not,” she was 
wont to ask her five sons, “when an earl keeps the 
finest province and will not pay any taxes?” 

Gunhild’s sons were grown men but she exer¬ 
cised such a power over them that they listened to 
her words as if they were children. However, 
they did not see what was to be done about Earl 
Haakon. Meanwhile the crops were bad and the 
peasants could not pay enough taxes to supply 
spending money for Gunhild’s sons, so they decided 
to go on a Viking expedition and rob the people in 
other lands. The raid was very successful as they 
chose peaceful coast towns where the inhabitants 
were unprepared, and when they came back to 
Norway their ships were loaded with booty. 

“See what we have brought you,” cried the eld¬ 
est, Prince Harald, coming to his mother with his 
ill-gotten loot. Queen Gunhild did not deign to 
glance at the golden baubles, but gazed straight 
into her son’s eyes, with a disdainful smile on her 
lips. 

“It seems strange,” said she, “that you go on 
Viking tours when an earl is keeping your inheri¬ 
tance from you at home. Do you think your 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 167 


grandfather, King Harald Fair-Hair, would have 
done that?” 

Prince Harald bit his lip. Of all Gunhild’s 
sons, he was most manly; greedy and grasping he 
might be, but he was no coward. 

“Earl Haakon is no ordinary ruler,” answered 
Prince Harald. “He is even more clever and pop¬ 
ular than his father whom we helped you put out 
of the way. Besides he is young and active, and 
on the watch for trouble. If we try to fight him, 
he might unite the country against us and drive us 
into exile.” 

“Fight Earl Haakon?” questioned the queen- 
mother, raising her eyebrows. “Who ever sug¬ 
gested it? I’m sure I did not. No indeed,” she 
added with a sparkle in her gray-green eyes, “let 
us make friends with him. We may be able to 
get along very well with this clever young 
earl!” 

It was thus decided that Gunhild and her sons 
should court Earl Haakon’s friendship. A peace¬ 
ful proposal was drawn up in which Gunhild 
agreed to renounce her claims to the Trondhjem 
taxes for the sake of an understanding. The 
Trondhjem folk were pleased at the suggestion; 
they were weary of the quarrel. Earl Haakon 
himself pretended to be gratified. But as Prince 
Harald had said, Earl Haakon was no ordinary 
ruler, and for once, Queen Gunhild had met her 


168 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


match. It was to be no commonplace contest— 
this struggle for the much-prized Trondhjem. 

Now there developed a great friendship between 
Gunhild and Earl Haakon. The queen-mother, 
although a middle-aged woman, was still a fas¬ 
cinating one, and the clever earl had real pleas¬ 
ure from his association with her. Earl Haakon 
himself was unlike the usual type of Viking. Small 
of stature, gray-eyed, keen and good-looking, he 
had an animated manner which seemed especially 
to attract women. He was an unusual study even 
for the experienced queen-mother, and she found 
pleasure in his company, in spite of the fact that 
he stood between her and Trondhjem. 

When Earl Haakon made peace with the queen- 
mother, there were celebrations, indeed! The earl 
and his followers dined with Gunhild and her five 
princelings. But Haakon was always careful to 
see that he had as many followers as Gunhild, and 
Gunhild found no opportunity to give him a mag¬ 
ical potion. Meanwhile Gunhild was racking her 
brains to find some way to get rid of the earl, while 
the earl, always polite and delightful, could never 
be caught. It was a great game. . . . And 

all the time every one was saying what wonder¬ 
fully good friends the two were! 

It was while all this was going on, that Gunhild’s 
eldest son, Prince Haraid, had an adventure. A 
ship from Iceland came into port, laden with skins. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 169 


For some reason—perhaps because it was summer 
—nobody would buy the skins, and the ship’s cap¬ 
tain came to Prince Harald, complaining of his 
bad luck. The prince was a good-humored man 
—when the good-humor cost him nothing—and 
consented to have a look at the skins. He came in 
his royal vessel, and on examining the wares, he 
said: 

a Won’t you give me one of those gray pelts?” 

‘Willingly,” answered the captain, “take more 
if you like.” 

Prince Harald selected a gray pelt, threw it over 
his shoulder and went back to his vessel. But be¬ 
fore they rowed away, every one of his men, wish¬ 
ing to follow the fashion, bought a skin for him¬ 
self. The skins must have been becoming, for a 
few days later, so many men came to buy pelts that 
there were not enough for half of them. The 
prince had set the style, and from that day he was 
known as “Harald Gray-Pelt.” 

Harald Gray-Pelt’s name was soon to be even 
better known, for his mother had chosen him for 
a special task. Several years had passed since the 
friendship league had been formed with Earl 
Haakon, and the queen-mother felt the time was 
ripe for another move. The people of Trondhjem 
were no longer on the lookout for trouble, and 
their fighting force was disorganized. Meanwhile 
her sons had been getting a stronger hold on the 


170 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


rest of Norway, and the different districts were 
encouraged to keep their little armies in first-class 
trim, in case of a “foreign invasion.” But the in¬ 
vasion Gunhild had in mind was one of her own 
and against Trondhjem. 

Earl Haakon, clever as he was, was shocked 
when news reached him one day that forces on 
both sea and land were being assembled by the 
queen-mother from every province but his own, 
and that all had received orders to “proceed 
north.” He understood the move, however, and 
realized that any army he could assemble on such 
short notice would meet with defeat. A quick 
decision was necessary and the earl made it. 

First he assembled a small force and made a 
show of defense, but when he had proved Gun- 
hild’s treachery, he sent his yeomen home and, 
steering along the outer edge of an island which 
kept his sails from being seen, he escaped in a ship 
with a crew of picked warriors. Along the coast 
of the Baltic Sea they cruised, making Viking 
raids on the coast towns. Earl Haakon was, as 
his father had been, 2 a staunch worshiper of the 
Norse god, and after his moral code, a Viking raid 
was a legitimate diversion for any gentleman who 
had nothing better to do. 

And Gunhild came to Trondhjem! The people 
made no further resistance, and that rich province 
soon felt the burden of the taxes which Gunhild 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 171 


collected to support her lazy sons. But gradually 
there came unrest over the land and the army had 
to be sent from one place to another to enforce 
the queen’s harsh measures. Finally, Prince Har- 
ald took most of the troops over the mountains on 
an expedition, and no sooner were they out of the 
way, than Earl Haakon stood on Trondhjem’s 
shore, returned from his Viking tour. The peo¬ 
ple rallied around their leader; the witch-queen 
fled to Viken, and Earl Haakon sat as undisputed 
ruler of the province. 

Harald Gray-Pelt was indeed surprised when 
he returned from his expedition and found his 
mother and brothers driven from Trondhjem. But 
Gray-Pelt was a brave and seasoned fighter and 
had a trained army back of him. So it was not 
long before a formidable force under his command 
was again ready to attack Trondhjem. 

Again Earl Haakon took to sea rather than run 
the risk of defeat. Sailing along the outer side of 
the islands, he came to Denmark and sought the 
great king, Blue-Tooth. Meanwhile Gunhild re¬ 
turned to Trondhjem, and, with Harald Gray- 
Pelt’s support, felt herself at last firmly enthroned 
in the province she most loved. 

All through the long years, when Gunhild had 
been a curse to the land, Trondhjem had generally 
been able to escape. Now this rich community was 
to feel the real pressure of her hand. Not without 


172 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


resistance however,—there were uprisings and dis¬ 
content, and one of her sons was killed by the peas¬ 
ants while trying to collect taxes, while another 
who violated the hospitality of a nobleman, paid 
for his insolence with his life. For each death 
Norway breathed more freely, but Gunhild had 
still three sons and she herself was by far the great¬ 
est curse of them all. 

Earl Haakon had no sooner come to Denmark 
than he created a sensation by stating that he was 
going to bed for the winter. He said that he had 
so much to think over that he must have complete 
bodily rest. His meals were served in bed and 
there he received visitors. He spent most of his 
time thinking of his earldom in Trondhjem. He 
could see that the main bulwark of Gunhild’s 
power was Harald Gray-Pelt. If Gray-Pelt could 
be lured to Denmark, the earl might dispose of 
him there, and then he could deal with the rest 
of the family at home. Thus ran his thoughts. 
The plan he worked out would have done credit to 
Gunhild herself. 

Earl Haakon became so famous for his think-a¬ 
bed policy that people sought his advice on their 
own private affairs. Among others, came a noble¬ 
man named Gold-PI a raid (he got the name be¬ 
cause of his profitable Viking raids in the Baltic!) 
and he and Earl Haakon had many talks. Gold- 
Harald was a nephew of King Blue-Tooth and 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 173 

many of the people thought he had a right to the 
throne. 

“Tell me, Haakon,” said he one day to the earl, 
“do you think the king would admit my right if 
I put the question to him and perhaps give me a 
part of the kingdom?” 

“I don’t think the king would deny you any real 
right,” answered the earl, “but I don’t think you 
will get any part of the kingdom unless you ask 
for it.” 

On the strength of this advice, Gold-Harald put 
the question directly to the king and the latter was 
naturally very angry. 

“Nobody ever asked my father to be half king,” 
said he. “And nobody can expect me to be less 
than my father.” 

Gold-Harald was not in a happy frame of mind 
the next time he sought Earl Haakon’s bedside. 

“Now my position is worse than ever,” he ex¬ 
plained. “I have gained no more land, but I have 
gained the royal displeasure. Still I feel more 
than ever that I have a right to my inheritance. 
How shall I win it—would you advise trying 
force?” 

“Don’t even suggest it!” exclaimed the earl cau¬ 
tiously. “The mere rumor of such a thought might 
cost you your life. Take stock of your talents. 
Brave and determined must one be to dare to think 
big things; neither good nor evil can be spared 


174 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


to consummate what one has dared to think. The 
worst thing in the world is to fall short in the ac¬ 
tion of a big thought.” 

What did he mean? Gold-Harald himself 
couldn’t quite make out, but he went away to think 
it over. In the meantime King Blue-Tooth, him¬ 
self, came for a bed-chamber conversation. 

“A ridiculous claim,” said the king angrily after 
relating how Gold-Harald had asked him for part 
of the kingdom. “If my nephew means this in 
earnest, I may very well expect a revolution. To 
avoid such a disagreeable disturbance, I had better 
do away with Gold-Harald. I have, however, no 
wish to harm my relative if he will only leave me 
in peace. What do you think?” 

The earl adjusted his pillows and sat up. It 
was no small honor that the king himself had 
sought his bedside. He really felt that he should 
arise and make his toilet before giving an answer, 
but on second thought he decided that it would be 
a wise thing to remain in bed. As he wished to 
appear as wise as possible he sank back among 
the pillows. 

“Well,” he answered after a moment’s ponder¬ 
ing, “I really think that Gold-Harald is in a mood 
to start a revolution. But why all this strife among 
relatives? Your father made his kingdom larger 
and not smaller. Why should you do less than 
he?” 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 175 

What did it mean? The king looked most per¬ 
plexed. 

“You suggest,” he repeated slowly, “that strife 
between relatives is foolish, and you advise me to 
increase my kingdom rather than diminish it. But 
unless there is strife between me and Gold-Harald 
my kingdom must be smaller and not larger than 
it is now.” 

“Not at all,” answered Earl Haakon looking 
doubly wise. “Can not Your Majesty come again 
in a few days? Meanwhile I shall try to find 
words to express just exactly what I mean.” 

With this Earl Haakon rolled over and turned 
his face to the wall. The king was very much im¬ 
pressed and ordered his followers to withdraw 
softly so as not to disturb the thinker. All other 
appointments for advice were cancelled as the earl 
wished to have uninterrupted time to give His 
Majesty a thought treatment. When Blue-Tooth 
came again he found the thinker looking pale and 
worn. 

“Night and day I have thought continuously 
about your problem,” said the earl seriously. “I 
have finally arrived at a conclusion which I think 
will solve the difficulty for you. You, oh, King, 
should without doubt have all that your father 
had but meanwhile you might help Gold-Harald 
win another kingdom which would bring honor to 
you both.” 


176 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


“How can I win Gold-Harald a kingdom unless 
I give him a part of my own?” answered Blue- 
Tooth rather huffily. 

“Give him Norway!” exclaimed the earl. “Gun- 
hild and her princelings are hated by everybody. 
Drive them out and establish your nephew there.” 

“Norway is a difficult land to conquer,” object¬ 
ed the king. “You must also remember that Gun- 
hild and I have been good friends. Her son, Har- 
ald Gray-Pelt, a promising warrior, I made my 
foster-son, when they lived in Denmark.” 

“Of course I know,” replied Haakon with more 
apparent coolness than he felt, for he was playing 
his trump card. “But I really thought that you 
long ago discovered what Gunhild really is at 
heart, or rather that she has no heart. How she 
slandered you, oh, King, when once she regained 
her power in Norway! Has she repaid you in any 
way for your kindnesses?” 

“No,” admitted the king. “Her attitude has 
been haughty and ungrateful. She uses every one 
until she thinks she has no further use for them. 
But with my foster-son it is different. He was a 
clever chap and never did me harm. As a Skidd¬ 
ing 3 I do not like the thought of deceiving a foster- 
son.” 

“Your own people,” answered his adviser, “will 
tell you that it is better to kill a Norwegian Viking 
than a Danish nephew.” 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 177 


This was a new way of putting the matter. They 
talked many hours about the plan, and the king 
finally agreed to let Earl Haakon untangle the 
matter. Gold-Harald was therefore sent for and 
all three laid plans for the downfall of Gunhild 
and Harald Gray-Pelt. Earl Haakon had indeed 
found powerful assistance in his struggle with the 
pale queen-mother! 

Queen Gunhild sits at her chamber window and 
gazes out over the fields toward the mountains of 
Trondhjem. How clear is the reflection in the 
deeper blue of the fiord! This is the province she 
has longed, so many years, to possess—the northern 
paradise, to win which she has hazarded all. But 
Gunhild is not happy. Her hair once black as the 
wing of Odin’s raven has turned white as the snow 
on the mountains. Craft and cruelty have left 
their hard lines on her pale face,—and disappoint¬ 
ment, too. For now she begins to realize that what 
she sought for most was not Trondhjem—but hap¬ 
piness. And that, she has not found. Everywhere 
she has gone in the world it has seemed that a 
curse has followed her. Now there is famine in 
the land of Norway and she and her three remain¬ 
ing sons are the most hated of all people. 

Down the valley comes a crowd of knights 
a-riding. The people leave their work to gaze 
at the gay procession as it makes its way to the 
palace. Gunhild sees from her window that they 


178 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


are strangers, and, hoping that they bring good 
news, hastens to receive them. 

The message brought by the strangers, who 
proved to be from the king of Denmark, was in¬ 
deed pleasing. The former powerful Earl Haa¬ 
kon lay sick unto death in Denmark. The thoughts 
of King Blue-Tooth now turned toward his foster- 
son of the old days, Harald Gray-Pelt. If Gray- 
Pelt wished to come to him, Blue-Tooth would be 
glad to turn over to his foster-son the estates where 
he had spent his childhood. 

Gray-Pelt was especially pleased. He had most 
pleasant memories of his childhood in that smiling 
land to the south where both the people and the 
landscape were milder than in rugged Norway. 
There was no famine in Denmark and if Gray- 
Pelt were there with his courtiers, there would be 
more in Norway for Gunhild and her other sons. 

But it was difficult for Gunhild to believe that 
Earl Haakon had so easily given up the great game 
for Trondhjem. She had also once waited in Den¬ 
mark many years, planning to regain her power 
in Norway. 4 

“Remember, my son,” said she, “Earl Haakon 
is quite a match for us in intrigue. This may be 
a ruse of his to get you to Denmark and do you 
harm.” 

“But the message comes from Blue-Tooth, my 
foster-father,” insisted Gray-Pelt, who was eager 



Down the valley comes a crowd c f knights a-riding. 


















3- 













Wi 








I 












STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 179 


to go. “And it says that Earl Haakon lies at 
Death’s door.” 

“Why does the message mention Earl Haakon 
at all?” questioned the suspicious queen. “But you 
must decide for yourself.” 

And if he goes, thought she, there will be more 
for us to divide here. 

The following summer Gray-Pelt set sail with 
three well-manned ships, to accept the invitation 
of King Blue-Tooth. Gold-Harald had not been 
at all sure that Gray-Pelt would step into the trap 
laid for him, and was already planning another 
Viking raid. The news that Gray-Pelt had reached 
the north of Denmark put a stop to these prepara¬ 
tions. 

“Now is your time to defeat Gray-Pelt,” said 
Earl Haakon to Gold-Harald. “Gray-Pelt will 
think Blue-Tooth is coming to meet him and will 
not expect a fight.” 

So Gold-Harald sailed out with his nine ships 
and challenged Gray-Pelt to combat. Gray-Pelt 
had been waiting at the mouth of a fiord to see 
what kind of a reception he would get, but this 
went beyond his expectation. He realized that he 
was caught. 

Like a true Norse Viking, he refused to fly. 
Landing his men, he drew them up in battle array. 
The battle was a fierce one, but went, of course, 
against the daring Gray-Pelt. He was fighting on 


180 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


a plain instead of in the mountainous country he 
knew, and his was an inferior force. 

Gray-Pelt may be a hard and cruel character, 
judged by Christian standards, but, seen through 
the eyes of the pagan Viking Age, this dare-devil 
prince seems not a little like a hero, tricked by an 
old friend and fighting against great odds. One 
can almost understand the admiration of the an¬ 
cient bard who sang: 

“The Sword-Swinger 5 spoke brave words and 
dared 

Color the field with the foemen’s blood 
He bade his men—Swing your swords again! 

His kingly call rang clear and loud. 

“The Shield-Bearer 5 who refused to flee 

Lies there dead on the Lim Fiord’s strand 
Oh, treacherous friend, you played him false— 

His noble blood now colors the sand!” 

Yes, Gray-Pelt fought his last fight with Gold- 
Harald, and while his life’s blood colored the sand, 
the wily Earl Haakon was giving King Blue-Tooth 
more advice. 

“See,” cried Earl Haakon, “Gold-Harald now 
sails forth to defeat Gray-Pelt and thus win Nor¬ 
way. He will do it almost as easily as I say it— 
unless you prevent it.” 

“Prevent it?” questioned Blue-Tooth in surprise. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 181 


“Isn’t it our plan that Gold-Harald shall have 
Norway so that I may be at peace in Denmark?” 

“But do you really think you will have peace, 
if Gold-Harald wins Norway?” continued Haa¬ 
kon. “Do you know that he once told me he would 
kill you if he could?” 

“Oh!” exclaimed the king with a shudder, “a 
false nephew, indeed!” 

“For one last time, let me advise you,” went on 
Haakon rapidly. “I have twelve ships all ready to 
sail. Let me go out and meet Gold-Harald with 
his nine ships. His men are now weary from the 
battle and I can easily overcome his fleet. Then 
I shall win Norway and rule it in the name of 
Blue-Tooth, King of Denmark and Norway” 

Haakon had put his case well. The idea of be¬ 
ing twice a king appealed to Blue-Tooth and he 
agreed to back Earl Haakon’s cause. The latter 
now thought he had been in bed long enough; the 
time for thinking was over, the time for action had 
come. He was soon sailing over the blue fiord in 
his fleet to meet the returning vessels of Gold- 
Harald. The latter’s men were exhausted as Earl 
Haakon had assumed and, taken by surprise at the 
turn of events, were easily overcome by Earl Haa¬ 
kon’s forces. 

Now was the time for Earl Haakon’s return to 
Trondhjem. With a fleet of six hundred well- 
equipped ships he sails away. Blue-Tooth leads a 


182 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


land force to strengthen the earl’s cause against 
Gunhild’s army, but it is not needed. No one in 
Norway will fight for the hated witch-queen. Not 
only Trondhjem but the whole land receives the 
newcomers as deliverers, and Blue-Tooth soon 
withdraws his army, leaving Haakon as his earl, 
the acknowledged ruler of all Norway! 

Gunhild, the pale Queen-Mother, sits in her cas¬ 
tle in Trondhjem, and wrings her hands. She 
knows that her hour has come. How bitterly she 
regrets having allowed her strongest son to fall 
into the snares of her enemy. But her avarice had 
no end. 

What shall she do? Where shall she fly? It is 
not as it was in the old days when, driven from 
one place, she had only to come to a new, to use 
her fascinating powers on other victims. She is 
old now and faded, and weary of the long, long 
struggle. The shadows have begun to cluster 
around her. Such evil shadows they are—the 
menacing forms and faces of those she has hurried 
from this existence! There are her teachers, two 
terrible Finns whom she caused to be mur¬ 
dered in their beds; King Halfdan to whom she 
gave a poisoned potion. From the mists the good 
King Haakon gazes at her with reproachful eyes 
and she thinks of the bewitched arrow that caused 
his fall; and others—far too many others—the 
clever Earl Sigurd whom she had burned alive; 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 183 


Viken’s brave governor, Trygva, who was mur¬ 
dered on the sea-shore—and there—she thinks she 
sees Trygva’s wife, the Lady Astrid, with their 
little child whom she drove from a peaceful life 
into miserable exile. 

Flight! That is the only thing left for the once 
proud queen. In the dead of night she leaves her 
castle alone and unheeded, except for those aveng¬ 
ing shapes that warn her of her doom. Her two 
sons have tried to assemble an army, but in vain. 
The people throng the streets acclaiming their old 
favorite, Earl Haakon. 

And so they set sail for the Orkney Islands 
where Gunhild had come once long before. 8 Her 
daughter still lives there, a worthy pupil of her 
mother, for since they parted the younger woman 
has murdered three husbands! 

We must leave Gunhild here—lonely, old, hag¬ 
gard, with a soul heavy with sin and fearing death, 
yet unrepentant. The saga mentions her no more. 7 

Earl Haakon has won in the struggle for 
Trondhjem. Earl he is in name; in reality he is 
king of all Norway, although he keeps faith with 
King Blue-Tooth and later helps him in time of 
need. 8 Norway blossoms under the rule of the 
earl. It is as though the departure of Gunhild re¬ 
moved a curse from the land. The fish swarmed 
in the fiords; the harvest was the largest in years, 
and famine became a thing of the past. 


184 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


Earl Haakon was a typical gentlman of the 
pagan Viking school. Crafty, cruel and double- 
tongued he could be—it was a part of the code of 
morals as old as Aasgaard—but he loved his peo¬ 
ple and they in turn adored their clever leader, 
who had not spent that winter in bed for nothing! 


1 Earl Haakon is one of the most famous characters in the 
history of Norway. He was named after King Haakon the 
Good by his father Earl Sigurd who was King Haakon’s best 
friend and protector. Haakon was a great name in Sigurd’s 
family. The kings of Norway still bear the name. 

2 As you will remember from the tal e,False Gods and True. 

3 The Danish Kings are called the Skioldings (Scyldings) as 
descendants of Skiold. They appear as such in the Anglo- 
Saxon epic } Beowulf. 

4 See the tale. On the Wings of an Arrow. 

5 Sword-Swinger, Shield-Bearer: These apply, of course, to 
Gray-Pelt. The Norse saga writers are fond of using this pic¬ 
turesque form of metaphor, as were the Greeks. 

6 See the tale, Ora the Wings of an Arrow. 

7 See the tale of Olaf in Search of a Kingdom. 

8 Thus ends Snorra’s story of one of the most interesting 
women of saga times. “The sagas say that she was beautiful 
and dignified,” explains Doctor Gjerset, the Norwegian his¬ 
torian, “though not very tall. She was cunning, talkative and 
evil-minded—a veritable Lady Macbeth. History places her 
in a different light. She appears as a faithful wife and good 
mother, a gifted and heroic woman who clung to her husband 
in evil days as in good. . . . But it is more than likely 

that a woman so gifted and energetic, a princess of an old, 
royal family, might be haughty and over-bearing as queen of 



STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 185 


Norway and that, when trouble came, she would fight for her 
throne, her husband and her sons with all the intrigues and 
secret weapons which she, as a woman could^command.” 

The traditional idea of Gunhild as a sorceress seems however 
still to prevail in the Far North. A Danish playwright, J. C. 
Hostrup, in his play^w Spun) i Tranedans 7 i ntroduces Gunhild 
in her old role of fascinator. Two young Danes lost in a 
wood, hear at midnight a strange noise in the earth. On up¬ 
setting an ancient rune-stone to discover the cause, the wraith 
of the Lady Gunhild appears, explaining that her spirit has 
been imprisoned there for a thousand years bound by the magic 
writing on the stone. In return for her freedom, she gives 
one of them a bracelet which she had used in life, saying that 
its possessor can enchant any one he meets, but that after one 
day the bracelet will disappear. This furnishes the motif for 
a most amusing plot. 


XI 

ADVENTURES OF THE BOY OLAF 


Olaf, a Viking’s son Allogia, Queen of Gardarika 

Valdemar, King of Gardarika . 

Burislaf- King of Vendland 
Klerkon, a pirate GeyrQ 

Olafs uncle 

Place: Novgorod, capital of the Kingdom of Gardarika, and 
Vendland . 2 

A LAD stood in the market-place of Novgorod 
and watched the shifting throngs of people 
assembled there. They came from all parts of the 
kingdom of Gardarika. Such a display of odd cos¬ 
tumes, such a buzz of many tongues in strange 
languages the little nine-year-old Viking’s son had 
never seen nor heard before. Yes, he himself was 
a stranger. The busy scene, the animated gossip 
of the merchants, the stalls, the wares, the animals 
offered for sale,—all interested him immensely. It 
was indeed different from the simple life he had 
always known. 

Through the crowd came a ruffian pushing his 
way; a thick-set man with unkempt hair and clad 
in a loose dirty cloak. He talked with two com¬ 
panions who wore knives in their belts. Their 
rolling walk betrayed their calling. The boy 
Olafs gaze fell on the trio and the glad light in 
186 


j- Princesses of Vendland 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 187 


his blue eyes died away. The young mouth tight¬ 
ened. 

That face, why did he remember it? 

“Klerkon!” called one of the three. 

That name, where had Olaf heard it before? 

The vivid scene with its glamour of color faded 
from his vision. He seemed to be on shipboard 
with that Klerkon. All was confusion; people were 
running to and fro. But on the deck there was a 
dreadful sight. . . . 

An old man, a kind old man lay with his head 
in a pool of blood. His beard was dyed purple 
with blood. That had been a friend who stood by 
Olaf and said: 

“You shall not take this child from his mother!” 

To which Klerkon had answered: “Listen to 
the graybeard. He is too old to be of use even 
as a slave.” 

Then Klerkon took his ax and slew him. 

“Torolf, Torolf,” cried the child Olaf. “My 
guardian! He has killed you—this wicked Kler¬ 
kon has killed you with his ax.” 

It seemed as though the whole awful scene was 
repeating itself, just as it had been, many years 
before. 

Olaf, as he stood transfixed on the market-place, 
had a small ax in his hand. It was hardly more 
than a toy, a present from his uncle—but its edge 
was sharp. There went the pirate who had slain 


188 STORIES OE THE VIKINGS 


his guardian, the robber who had torn him from 
his mother, Astrid, and had sold him into slavery. 

Klerkon touched Olaf as he passed. Olaf raised 
the toy ax and struck the pirate on the head. The 
blade went to the brain and Klerkon fell dead on 
the market-place. 

Now there was confusion indeed! Buyers and 
sellers left their wares and clustered around the 
body. 

“Seize the murderer!” came angry cries. 

Such a breach of the peace was a death offense 
in the city of Novgorod. 

Olaf tried to lose himself in the crowd but some 
one had seen him strike the blow and an attempt 
was made to hold him. 

Olaf ran down a side-street; shortly after came 
an excited mob. Olaf dodged around a corner; 
the crowd traced him and followed. At last Olaf 
reached the house where he lived with his uncle 
and rushed breathless into the latter’s presence. 

“I have killed Klerkon,” cried the boy, panting. 
“He was the pirate that killed Torolf and sold me 
into slavery. But now the people are looking for 
me and will soon be here to kill me!” 

“What is the meaning of this?” exclaimed the 
uncle. “You surely have not broken the peace by 
committing murder?” 

The child nodded; then sank upon a chair, quiv¬ 
ering. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 189 


Olaf’s uncle was at a loss to know what to do. 
He held a post of honor at the court of Valdemar, 
the king, but that did not give him the power to 
protect a murderer, even though it was his own 
nephew. Besides no one knew of the relationship 
for he had found Olaf as a slave by pure chance 
and had bought him secretly. 

The angry crowd could be heard in the distance. 
There was not a moment to be lost. 

“Come,” decided the uncle hurriedly, “I shall 
take you to the queen!” 

The two hastened through a side-door and were 
soon at the palace. The uncle, as a high official, 
obtained admittance at once and in a few minutes 
they stood in the presence of Queen Allogia. They 
had, however, no time to explain their mission be¬ 
fore the crowd was surging outside the palace. 

“Seize the murderer!” “He has broken the 
peace!” “Deliver up this young barbarian!” cried 
the mob. 

They crowded against the palace gates and only 
the queen’s armed guard kept them from breaking 
in. 

“Why all this disturbance?” asked the queen 
with marked displeasure, gazing through the win¬ 
dow and seeing what seemed to be half the popu¬ 
lation of the town gathered at her gates. 

“Save this lad, Your Majesty,” begged the uncle. 
“He has only killed an oppressor. Later the mat- 


190 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


ter can be explained, but if you do not save him 
now, they will kill him.” 

“It is a great offense to break the peace,” an¬ 
swered the queen coldly. Then she looked at the 
boy, handsome, quivering, who gazed back at her 
with appealing eyes. 

“Why, he is only a child!” added Allogia more 
softly. “And he has a noble face. It were indeed 
a shame to deliver up this defenseless youth with¬ 
out hearing his cause.” 

Then Alloga sent word to her guard to inform 
the people that Olaf would be brought before the 
proper court for trial. But this did not please 
many of them and they complained to the king. 

In the meantime the whole affair was explained 
to the sympathetic queen. She was told how the 
blue-eyed Viking Olaf had been brought by his 
mother Astrid to seek a home with his uncle; how 
their ship was captured by pirates; how the mother 
and the child’s guardian had been done away with 
by the wicked Klerkon and how Olaf had been 
sold into slavery. Then she was told how the uncle 
one day happened to see the child in the market¬ 
place and discovered that it was his sister Astrid’s 
son; how he had redeemed the little fellow and 
brought him to Novgorod; how Olaf after many 
years again recognized the terrible Klerkon and 
had struck him with the toy ax that caused his 
death. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 191 


There were tears in Queen Allogia’s eyes when 
Olaf’s uncle finished his thrilling tale. And King 
Valdemar himself was moved to pity when his 
wife retold the story to him. The other side must 
also be considered, however, and Valdemar, as 
judge, decided that the boy’s life should be spared 
if his uncle would pay a heavy fine to Klerkon’s 
friends and relatives. 

Glad indeed were Olaf and his uncle that a ter¬ 
rible fate had been averted. But the fine was so 
large that the uncle with all his means did not see 
how he was going to pay it. The sympathetic 
queen, however, said that she would pay the sum, 
if Olaf could become her page. 

From felon to queen’s favorite is a long spring 
and it almost took Olaf’s breath away, delighted as 
he was. But this pleasure was short-lived. Kler¬ 
kon’s friends were still bent on making trouble and 
when the whole story of Olaf’s adventures came 
out and it was shown that the lad was of noble 
Viking birth, these mischief-makers again ap¬ 
pealed to public opinion. 

“The laws of Gardarika,” they said, “forbid any 
royal exile from settling in the land because of 
the disturbances caused by such exiles. Olaf has 
been no exception and he should be forced to leave 
the country.” 

Again Queen Allogia came to the rescue. 

“The law is correctly quoted,” she admitted, 


192 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


“but there is one exception and that is if the royal 
exile can obtain special permission from the king 
to remain.” 

And the permission was not difficult to ob¬ 
tain when the gentle Allogia appeared as peti¬ 
tioner. 

For nine happy years Olaf stayed at King Valde- 
mar’s court; for nine happy years he enjoyed the 
patronage of Queen Allogia, first as her page and 
later as one of her knights. And Olaf proved him¬ 
self to be a knight worthy of the patronage of so 
noble a queen. Fearless he was, with the keen 
look of the domineering eagle in his clear blue 
eyes; kind and generous he was, and chivalrous 
toward the gentler sex. He was quick in his 
studies and excelled in outdoor sports. In fact all 
who came in touch with him, felt the charm of 
this handsome fair-haired young giant from the 
Far North, whose strength of soul, mind and body 
made him the superior of all his companions. 

One day the opportunity came for Olaf to show 
his gratitude to his protectors. Gardarika was at¬ 
tacked, the army needed a strong leader. Now 
came the chance for the fearless young Viking. 
Olaf was put at the head of the army and he led 
his troops so well that all Gardarika hailed the 
triumphant young general when he came back to 
Novgorod, and the king granted him a substantial 
income. Whereupon Olaf assembled an escort of 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 193 


famous fighters and with them stood ever ready 
to support his sovereign. 

But, as often happens when a stranger comes to 
power or great honor, surpassing all others, there 
came to be many who envied Olaf and some began 
to whisper strange things to King Valdemar. 

“Watch you well, oh, King,” said one. “The 
Knight Olaf is after all not one of us and if you 
make him too great, he may turn on you.” 

“He is doubly dangerous,” suggested another, 
“just because he is clever and makes friends easily. 
If that kind of a man should sell himself to our 
enemies—!” 

“And what do you suppose Olaf always finds to 
talk to the queen about?” asked some malicious 
person. For Olaf and Queen Allogia were often 
together, as was only natural—Olaf being more 
than grateful to the noble lady who had saved his 
life and the queen being more than proud of her 
protege who had acquitted himself so well. Great 
kings and queens in those days often indulged in 
friendly rivalry as to which one could attract the 
finest men to the court. Queen Allogia’s follow¬ 
ing was no whit less than the king’s and she felt 
that it was to her credit that Olaf had come from 
her body-guard. 

But the envious courtiers continued their talk 
until even the king began to look on his Viking 
knight with less friendly eyes. When Olaf came 


194 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


into the royal presence Valdemar did not address 
him in the kind manner of former days but was 
reserved and silent. 

Olaf marked the change and spoke of it to the 
queen. 

“I grieve to see this change in my lord, the 
king,” said Olaf sadly. “But I realize that after 
all I am a stranger in a strange land and I have 
had more than my share of the honors that might 
have gone to native-born sons of Gardarika. Per¬ 
haps, too, my own land has honors awaiting me,” 
he added. “My great grandfather, Harald of the 
Fair Hair, was Norway’s first and greatest king. 
I should like to see the land of my birth and win 
myself a place in that kingdom.” 

“Do you mean you wish to leave Gardarika?” 
asked Queen Allogia. 

“That is what I mean, my kind Queen and pro¬ 
tector,” replied Olaf. “But I shall never forget 
your goodness or that you saved my life. No mat¬ 
ter where I go, I will always remember you.” 

“Let us first think the matter over,” said the 
queen gently. 

The more Queen Allogia thought about Olaf’s 
suggestion the more it seemed best for him that he 
should go. Out there, over the sea, might be 
honors waiting for this son of the Far North— 
greater than any she could help him win in Gar¬ 
darika. But he must have a right royal ship and 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 195 


brave men to keep him company. Allogia helped 
him arrange all this and finally her blue-eyed Vik¬ 
ing favorite was ready to sail away. 

The queen and her ladies stood on the shore as 
Olafis ship hoisted its sails. The queen smiled and 
waved her hand. 

“Farewell, my noble Olaf,” she cried. “A good 
man and true you will be, no matter what the years 
may bring you.” Olaf strained his eyes until the 
queen and her little group of women were only a 
white spot against the sandy shore. In spite of 
his brave start, his spirit was heavy and he almost 
wished he were not sailing away. 

When the ship was out of sight, Queen Allogia 
returned with her maidens to the palace. In her 
eyes and on her lips was a smile, but once in the 
privacy of her room those eyes became dim, the 
lips trembled. Her bravery was quite gone. Olaf 
had been like a son to her and now his bright pres¬ 
ence would never cheer her more. She knew 
that she loved him better than anything else in the 
world. 

Over the dark blue waters of the Baltic sped 
Olafis trim-built ship. But fair weather can not 
always continue and the way to Norway may be 
fraught with difficulties. The Norns 3 had not yet 
decreed that Olaf should return to his native land. 

When the ship neared the lonely island of Born¬ 
holm, heavy clouds were crushing against one an- 


196 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


other along the horizon. Higher and higher they 
reached like a mighty threatening hand. Hark! 
The distant rumble of Tor’s chariot. A Hash as he 
strikes with his hammer! ’Twas a tremendous 
blow! It seems as though both sea and sky vibrat¬ 
ed with the crash. The gods are not yet willing 
that the divine-sprung Olaf shall come to Norway 
■—not yet. 

Olaf’s sailors quickly see the danger threatening 
their ship if they continue in their present course. 
Her direction is changed from west to south. And 
that is how Olaf came to Vendland with his hardy 
crew. 

Burislaf was the name of the king of Vendland. 
Geyra and Astrid were his charming daughters. 
It happened that Olaf s ship sought a port in the 
province which King Burislaf had assigned to his 
daughter Geyra. When the news reached her that 
some strange people had come ashore, she sent a 
messenger to investigate. 

“The newcomers seem like men of distinction,” 
reported the messenger. 

“Are you sure they are not pirates?” questioned 
Geyra suspiciously. 

“No,” answered the messenger, “they are al¬ 
ready on friendly terms with our people and seem 
well-supplied with money.” 

“Tell their leader that I should like to speak 
with him,” replied Geyra. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 197 


And the messenger went out to bring the young 
Olaf to court 

A tall gray-eyed lady met Olaf in the audience 
room. 

“I have the honor to address the princess of 
Vendland?” asked Olaf respectfully. 

“Yes,” acknowledged she of the gray eyes. 
“And what, pray, is your mission here?” 

Then Olaf told her whence he had come and 
how they were bound for Norway. He told her 
of his own origin and his longing to return to the 
land of his forefathers. 

The princess regarded him with a friendly 
smile. 

“The year is getting late,” she said. “The storms 
are coming. We bid you welcome to our poor 
land and if you care to make this your winter 
haven, we will extend you our protection.” 

“A thousand thanks, kind Princess Geyra,” an¬ 
swered Olaf and a light in his clear blue eyes mir¬ 
rored his gratitude. “It will indeed be a boom 
if we may stay here until the winter storms are 
over.” 

She of the gray eyes smiled again. 

“I am not Geyra,” she explained. “But I speak 
in her behalf. I am Geyra’s sister, Astrid.” 

“The Princess Astrid?” questioned the young 
Viking, his eyes brightening again at the name. 
“My mother was also a Princess Astrid. But that,” 


198 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


he added sadly, “was many years ago. She suf¬ 
fered a dreadful fate among pirates.” 

“And to think we suspected him of being a 
pirate!” thought the gray-eyed Astrid. “Poor 
motherless boy.” 

A momentary impulse made her long to smoothe 
back the tangled locks and kiss that noble fore¬ 
head for the sake of that other Princess Astrid 
who was no more. Olafs frank manner had as¬ 
sured him another friend. 

“Is it the captain of the strange ship?” 

A sweetly modulated voice came from the door¬ 
way. 

Olaf looked and thought he saw a vision. 

The purple heaviness of the rich hangings at 
the portal offset a fair and delicate form. It was a 
young woman in a light flowing gown that em¬ 
phasized her slenderness against the dark curtain. 
Smaller she was than Astrid and less stately, but 
there was the same freedom of bearing, the same 
refinement of gesture. And in the presence of that 
vivid beauty, the deep blue eyes, the halo of wavy 
golden hair, Astrid’s gray-eyed loveliness paled 
almost to insignificance. At least in Olaf s eyes. 
Never before had he seen such a being—a woman 
that seemed miraculously, at first glance, endowed 
with all goodness and charm. 

“The Princess Geyra!” cried Olaf involun¬ 
tarily. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 199 


The vision floated toward him and extended a 
friendly hand. 

“I have heard what you have been telling my 
sister,” she explained, “and I want to repeat her 
welcome. May Svanevit, 4 god of all good, grant 
you a peaceful and pleasant sojourn in Vendland.” 

Thus Olaf decided to spend the winter at Prin¬ 
cess Geyra’s court. The time passed quickly in¬ 
deed. Day after day the stalwart young Viking 
enjoyed the kindness of his hostess, and glad he 
was, when an occasion presented itself where he 
could repay her. 

Gentle in all things, the rule of Geyra over her 
subjects was gentleness, itself. Indeed, she often 
showed too much leniency toward some of her un¬ 
ruly people who mistook this for weakness. 

“We can well dispense with this princess and 
old Burislaf altogether,” they planned. “We shall 
start an independent community of our own!” 

Their plotting resulted in a rebellion; the rebel¬ 
lion found Geyra unprepared. And to help her 
Olaf presented himself with his crew of seasoned 
fighters to do her bidding. 

The young general of triumphs in Gardarika, 
found it an easy matter to organize a defense for 
his fair hostess. In fact he was soon acting on the 
offensive and the rebels were forced to capitulate. 
Great were the relief and gladness of the Princess 
Geyra when law and order were once more re- 


200 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


stored, and King Burislaf himself sent for the 
stranger and publicly thanked him for the aid he 
had rendered. 

Yes, it was a wonderful winter for Olaf,—the 
best in his life. And he, the conquerer, found him¬ 
self also conquered. It was Olaf s first great pas¬ 
sion. He came to love the star-eyed Princess 
Geyra with all his soul and heart. She herself 
could not but admire the young Viking, so frank, 
so noble, so imperious—yet so submissive when it 
concerned her gentle self. 

Olaf begged for Geyra’s hand. 

Geyra consented. 

The voyage of the boy adventurer in search of 
his homeland was ended. He had not found Nor¬ 
way, but he had found a little kingdom in Vend- 
land—and in the heart of a princess. And long 
afterward, Astrid of the gray eyes proved to be a 
faithful friend. 


x This Burislaf in history is identified with a king of Poland. 

2 Vendland—A kingdom in the north of what has since been 
Germany. The Vends were a Slavic people that spread along 
the southern shore of the Baltic separating the Scandinavian 
from the Germanic tribes. The Danish historian Fabricius 
says: “The Vends learned how to build ships from the Danish 
Vikings and soon became good seamen. Pressed from the Ger¬ 
man side they turned toward the Danish coasts. The Vends 
by nature took life good-naturedly and easily. They were very 



STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 201 


receptive of foreign influence and like Slavic folk in general 
quickly adapted themselves to another culture.” 

3 The Fates. 

4 As told in the tale, Sigurd's Revenge. 

Svanevit was the great god of the Vends and his sacred city 
was Arkona on an island just off the coast of Vendland. Here 
stood a four-headed wooden colossus that was worshiped a 
hundred years or more after Scandinavia had become Christian. 
In fact Arkona excited the ire of the Danish kings and finally 
fell in a most spectacular manner in 1169. 

The monk, Saxo Grammaticus, whose historic accounts 
of earlier happenings in the Far North seem written more to 
amuse than instruct, describes the fall of Arkona in a vivid 
narrative which must be very near the truth as it was written 
at the time the city fell. Saxo says: 

“The whole of Vendland worshiped this idol (Svanevit) by 
paying tribute to it and even kings of near-by lands sent it gifts 
regardless of the sacrilege they were committing. Among 
others, King Svend of Denmark sent it a wonderfully fashioned 
beaker, thus setting an idol above the True God which sacri¬ 
lege he paid for by a terrible death. This god had also other 
temples in different places with priests but none as important 
as the one in Arkona. He had his own white horse and al¬ 
though it stood in its stall all night, in the morning it was 
covered with sweat as though it had just come from battle and 
had traveled a long way. 

“The city (Arkona) is situated on the top of a high cliff, 
on three sides strongly fortified by nature, on the fourth by a 
wall one hundred and fifty feet high. In the middle of the 
town in an open square stood a very elaborate wooden temple, 
much honored not only because it was so beautiful but because 
of the idol within. In the temple stood the far-famed idol— 
a colossus with four heads and four necks, two in front and 


202 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


two behind. Its hair and beard were cropped, as was the cus¬ 
tom of the people of the island. 

“Once a year when the harvest was over, all the people as¬ 
sembled on the island before the temple, offered sacrifices and 
held a feast. At this feast every one was expected to become 
intoxicated; to remain sober was to sin against the god. For 
the money given the god, he had all kinds of jewelry and 
temple ornaments made which he kept in locked chests where 
he also kept many pieces of purple which were quite eaten with 
age.” 

Saxo tells much more about the customs of the Vends in their 
worship at Arkona. In trying to take the city, the Danes set 
fire to the wall, the Vends tried to quench the fire with milk. 
After Arkona’s fall, the dreadful Svanevit was dragged through 
the city and burned. 


XII 

OLAF IN SEARCH OF A KINGDOM 

Olaf, Trygva’s son, an advert- Burislaf, King of Vendland 
turer Alvine , an English knight 

Haakon, Earl of Trondhjem Poppo, a Christian bishop 

Harald Blue-Tooth , King of A Hermit 

Denmark Astrid, Princess of Vendland 

Otto, Kaiser of the Holy Gyda, an Irish princess 
Roman Empire 

Place: At Danevirke, the wall across Denmark; also Nor¬ 
way and the British Isles. 

IN DEFENSE OF THE DANEVIRKE 

'TpHE Danes had built a wall all the way across 
A Denmark to keep out disagreeable people 
from the rest of Europe that might want to in¬ 
trude. The wall was made of stones, tree-trunks 
and earth; it had towers on it and a broad deep 
moat ran along its base. This barrier was called 
the Danevirke and was the pride and boast of 
every Dane, a thousand years ago. Although “de¬ 
stroyed” many times since then, parts of it stand 
to-day to attest the greatness of a wise and power¬ 
ful race . 1 

King Blue-Tooth was greatly pleased that the 
Danevirke stood between him and the rest of Eu¬ 
rope, when he heard that Kaiser Otto of the Holy 
Roman Empire 2 had planned to take Denmark. 

203 


204 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


But he knew he would also need all the allies he 
could muster, for the attack was to be a terrible 
one. The greatest fighter whom he could call his 
ally was the clever Earl Haakon of Norway, so he 
sent for him at once. 

“Denmark is in danger,’’ ran King Blue-Tooth’s 
message. “In your time of trouble I helped you 
redeem Norway; now I call on you to help redeem 
Denmark from the Kaiser.” 

And Earl Haakon with men and ships rallied 
immediately to help his former ally and defend the 
Danevirke. 

Kaiser Otto of the Holy Roman Empire was a 
Christian, and he felt that his mission in the world 
was to make every one else a Christian. Inci¬ 
dentally he wished to extend his territory and seize 
the land belonging to his heathen neighbors. All 
his strength was now to be centered on crushing the 
wicked heathen Blue-Tooth, to compel him to give 
up his gods Odin and Tor—and to make Denmark 
“Holy Roman.” It was a mighty army that Kaiser 
Otto assembled to accomplish this noble purpose! 
There were Franks and Saxons and Vends; es- 
quadrons of knights on horseback, and hordes of 
warriors and archers on foot. Among his most 
powerful allies was Burislaf, King of Vendland, 
who was not a Christian, to be sure, but, in the ex¬ 
citement of the moment, Kaiser Otto seems to have 
forgotten that fact. For the main thing of course 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 205 


was to crush the wicked heathen Blue-Tooth— 
and make Denmark a “Holy Roman” province. 

Of all the defenders of the Danevirke, none was 
more energetic than the brave Earl Haakon. 
While the earl took charge of the defense of the 
wall itself, Blue-Tooth commanded an army that 
was to prevent the enemy from landing by sea. 
For the Danevirke connected the ends of two fiords 
which ran into the land from either side and it 
was thought that Kaiser Otto might also try to 
cross the fiords in boats. 

Earl Haakon set battalions of his men in the 
towers along the wall, but he allowed the greater 
part of his force to move from place to place along 
the base, so the men could be quickly assembled at 
the point where the press from the enemy was 
greatest. His defense was brilliant. The horde of 
knights and men on foot again and again stormed 
the bastions without success. 

Among Kaiser Otto’s generals was a young, blue¬ 
eyed adventurer from the Far North who by the 
strangest chance in the world, found himself in 
that motley company. In the first place he was 
not a Christian; in the second place he was born 
a Viking and so was fighting his own people. But 
fate had played odd pranks with this young blond 
giant. Long before, he had been brought as a 
child from Norway to the land of Gardarika. 
Later he had set out to return to Norway but came 


206 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


instead to Vendland, where he had married the 
lovely Princess Geyra, daughter of King Burislaf. 
Now he was following his royal father-in-law to 
help the latter’s ally, Kaiser Otto. And thus two 
of the bravest Vikings that ever lived were pitted 
against each other;—the blond adventurer, Olaf, 
Trygva’s son,on one side, the clever Earl Haakon 
on the other. But they did not meet at the Dane- 
virke. The Norns had decreed a meeting, to be 
sure—but not yet. 

Under the leadership of the valiant Earl Haa¬ 
kon, the wall Danevirke seemed invincible to the 
forces of Kaiser Otto. After a hundred attempts 
against the mighty fortress, his weary army with¬ 
drew and the kaiser admitted himself vanquished. 
When this was evident, Earl Haakon, leaving a 
sufficient number of Danes to defend the wall, 
boarded his vessels to return to Norway. But sud¬ 
denly there came a wild plea for help from King 
Blue-Tooth! It seems that Olaf, the Viking, had 
conceived the plan of sailing far around the Dane¬ 
virke instead of trying to push through it, and 
Kaiser Otto, in following Olaf’s plan, had been 
able to take the Danish army by surprise. 

Earl Haakon returned too late! Poor Blue- 
Tooth, worshiper of Odin and Tor, direct descen¬ 
dant of the famous Skiold, was already defeated. 
And more—he had been baptized a Christian, and 
the whole Danish army with him! Kaiser Otto 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 207 


had indeed been having a busy time. 3 After cap¬ 
turing the Danish king, he invited him to a Chris¬ 
tian conference. The holy bishop Poppo was also 
there. 

“See,” cried Kaiser Otto, “the power of the true 
faith! My bishop Poppo can carry a hot iron 
without burning himself.” 

A fire was then made, an iron heated red-hot 
and Bishop Poppo took it in his hand. Behold! 
He laid the iron down again without even singeing 
his fingers. 

“A miracle!” cried Kaiser Otto. 

“A miracle!” echoed Kaiser Otto’s followers. 

Everybody else was quite willing to agree that it 
was a miracle, particularly those who had just been 
defeated by Kaiser Otto’s army. As for old Blue- 
Tooth, he was so afraid that some one would be 
asking him to try the hot-iron test, that he was 
also willing to call it a miracle. 

“The power of the Christian faith is now 
proved,” announced the kaiser. “I presume you 
are willing to admit that.” 

“Perfectly willing!” agreed Blue-Tooth, his fin¬ 
gers tingling at the thought of the hot iron. 

“And Denmark will now be considered part 
of the Holy Roman Empire,” went on Kaiser 
Otto. 

“Without a doubt,” assented Blue-Tooth; no¬ 
ticing with relief that the iron was cooling. 


208 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


Then the wholesale baptism took place. And 
in the midst Earl Haakon, quite ignorant of what 
was going on, arrived on the scene! Imagine, if 
you can, the dismay and chagrin of the valiant earl. 
His family had for generations been supporters of 
the Norse gods. He himself had risked his life 
fighting for their cause. Now, without even the 
chance of lifting a finger in defense, he finds him¬ 
self in a trap,—the fighting all over and a general 
Christian baptism going on. 

“You should try it yourself!” advised Blue- 
Tooth. 4 

There was no help for it. Earl Haakon was 
smart enough to know when he had really been 
outwitted, and much too sensible to object to the 
inevitable. He was not enthusiastic about the hot- 
iron test, either for himself or his men, and thus 
it happened that the baptismal ceremony was ex¬ 
tended to include them all. Never had Kaiser 
Otto and Poppo been so busy in all their lives! So 
busy they were, indeed, that they quite forgot Bur- 
islaf, his young general Olaf and a considerable 
number of other heathen. But then, of course, it 
is much easier to extend a new faith among a de¬ 
feated enemy than among a victorious ally. 

Brisk winds blew from the southwest and the 
white wings of Earl Haakon’s little fleet trembled 
in eagerness for the homeward flight. 

“To your ships, my men,” shouted the clever 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 209 


earl. “It is indeed a rare breeze and may carry 
us home.” 

“And a rare chance you will have to make Nor¬ 
way a Christian land,” remarked Kaiser Otto. “I 
have allotted a number of priests to accompany 
you.” 

“By all means! Thank you!” agreed the earl, 
and very shortly several worthy priests were safely 
stowed on board each of Haakon’s ships. But 
when every one of his Viking followers had also 
come aboard and the wind seemed steady enough 
to bear them far on their journey, Earl Haakon’s 
interest in the new faith slackened. 

“Ho, for Norway,” he cried to his men, “but 
first out with the kaiser’s minions!” 

And the smug unfortunate monks were let down 
from the ships into the water where they must 
wade ashore. Such cursings the Vikings them¬ 
selves had seldom heard as the supposedly saintly 
crew, with gowns lifted to their knees, stumbled 
over the rocks. 

And how the hardy Norsemen laughed at their 
plight! 

But there was little time for laughter; Kaiser 
Otto and the hot-iron test were still too near. All 
energy must be devoted to the homeward journey. 
The vessels fairly skimmed over the choppy sea 
and before the angry priests could report to their 
kaiser, Earl Haakon’s fleet might have been mis- 


210 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


taken for a flock of fluttering seagulls; there was 
no hope of overtaking it. 

Yes, Earl Haakon had escaped his foe in the 
flesh, but he could not escape his conscience. What 
a disgrace had been his! His family was one of 
the proudest, one of the most ancient supporters 
of the Norse gods. His father had himself bent 
a Christian king and forced him to return to the 
old faith. 5 With the heaviness of the night, his 
father’s spirit seemed to sink earthward to re¬ 
proach his son for that denial of their faith. How 
could he come again to Trondhjem and brave the 
stern glance of Odin and Tor in their blood- 
bathed temples? 

In the deepening gloom, the cliffs of the shore 
of Sweden loomed in sight and Haakon, the Earl, 
ordered sails lowered. With all the dignity of the 
most solemn of heathen feast days, Haakon pre-* 
pared to hold a sacrifice on shore, that would per¬ 
haps appease the gods of his fathers. As the long 
red tongues of flame leaped skyward, the Viking 
warrior raised his hands and begged that Odin, 
the All-Father, would forgive. 

“Only a sign I crave, mighty Odin,” prayed this 
staunch devotee. “Grant me a sign that the gods 
have not forsaken me and I will atone for my 
weakness with a costly gift to thy temple.” 

Out from the dark pine wood came a piercing 
cry! 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 211 


The vivid blaze against the blue-black heaven 
revealed an object in the air. 

Another cry and another spot rose above the 
wood, following the first. 

Two giant ravens 6 they were and they flew round 
and round in huge circles, shrilling their raucous 
croaks as though they would rend the very air. 
Then they darted inland and were lost in the black¬ 
ness of the forest. 

“Odin is with us still!” cried the earl with en¬ 
thusiasm. “We shall burn our ships and follow 
the ravens.” 

Then Haakon’s men burned their ships and 
started home on a march, about which many a song 
has been sung. They came up through Sweden 
and were attacked by various chieftains, but all 
opponents were vanquished under the leadership 
of their valiant hero. Over difficult mountains, 
across stone wildernesses, through forbidding, 
brooding forests, they made their way. And final¬ 
ly with golden shields and a wealth of other booty 
they reached Trondhjem, the paradise of the Far 
North, where Earl Haakon reigned. 

Great was the rejoicing in Norway at the wan¬ 
derers’ return; the fame of their prowess at the 
Danevirke had gone before them. And Haakon 
had a gold ring of rarest workmanship placed in 
the door of Odin’s temple as an offering of atone¬ 
ment for his denial of the gods. 7 


212 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


THE CHOICE OF A PRINCESS 

Olaf, the Viking general who had helped Kaiser 
Otto had a welcome home different from that of 
Earl Haakon. Olaf came fresh from victory, but 
he found all Vendland in mourning. 

“What has happened?” cried the blue-eyed war¬ 
rior. “I come with honor but am received with 
sorrow. Where is my wife, the Princess Geyra?” 

Then came the tall stately Astrid, sister of Gey- 
ra. She took his hand gently and there were tears 
in her gray eyes. 

“Come, dear friend, dear brother Olaf,” said 
she. “Follow me to the palace.” 

“What is the matter?” again questioned Olaf. 
“Why all this mourning, and where is Geyra, my 
wife?” 

Astrid turned away her head and wept. She did 
not dare tell him. 

They came to the palace. Profound silence 
reigned everywhere; there was not even a servant 
in sight. It seemed as though the whole world 
stood still in the presence of some terrible dis¬ 
aster. 

“Where are all the people?” cried the Viking. 
“Tell me, Astrid,” he begged, grasping her hand. 

The great hall seemed quite changed. Some¬ 
thing lay on a table in the center. Olaf approached 
and the leader, fearless in battle, knew fear and 
trembled. With careful hands, Astrid removed 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 213 


the shroud and Olaf saw Geyra, his beloved wife, 
beautiful as ever but oh, so pale. She was dead. 

Greater grief Olaf had never known—and never 
knew again throughout the whole of his eventful 
life. The flowers of victory withered on his brow; 
the joy of living was gone. He had come a stran¬ 
ger to Vendland. Without his helpmate the land 
itself seemed strange. It mocked him with its 
emptiness. Only one thing was left for him: in 
the stir of adventure, he might be able to forget. 

Thus it happened that Olaf, the son of Trygva, 
again called his comrades together to follow him 
out into the wide world. He bade farewell to 
gruff old King Burislaf and the gentle Astrid 
and thanked them for their kindness to him during 
the happiest years of his life. He spent one final 
hour of grief at his wife’s tomb. Then he sailed 
out—to forget. 

For four years Olaf, the adventurer, roamed the 
seas. Where there was a battle, he sought the 
thickest of the fight. He engaged in Viking raids 
on the coasts of England, Scotland, Ireland and 
France. Peasants and princes in these lands spoke 
with fear or respect of this fierce, resistless demi¬ 
god from the Far North. Finally he came to the 
Scilly Islands. 

On the Scilly Islands lived a famous hermit who 
was a fortune-teller. Olaf decided to test this her¬ 
mit’s cleverness by sending one of his men dressed 


214 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


like himself and pretending to be “Ola the Rus¬ 
sian” to have his fortune told. “Ola the Rus¬ 
sian” was the name by which our fair-haired hero 
was generally known. 

When the false Ola had announced himself, the 
hermit said: 

“You are no chieftain, but take my advice: be 
true to him who is your chieftain.” 

Olaf was indeed impressed at the aged fortune¬ 
teller’s astuteness in detecting the impostor and 
decided to talk with the hermit, himself. 

“Welcome, Chieftain,” said the old man when 
the real Olaf presented himself. “Welcome, 
King.” 

“I am no king,” answered Olaf. 

“You shall be a king, my Lord,” assured the her¬ 
mit, “a great Christian king.” 

“A Christian?” exclaimed the stalwart warrior, 
laughing. “Why, I am the staunchest of Vikings. 
Odin strengthens my will and Tor guides my hand 
so that my blow is certain death. I have seen 
enough of these Christians; Bishop Poppo for ex¬ 
ample, with his hot iron and his smug priests. They 
baptized the Danish army but only after Kaiser 
Otto had subdued them with the sword.” 

“Odin’s apostles are fierce and brave in battle,” 
continued the fortune-teller, “but do they not scorn 
weakness? You, my Lord, are brave indeed, but 
you can also be generous and gentle to those weaker 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 215 


than yourself. I tell you,” he emphasized, scan¬ 
ning the noble figure before him, “you will be a 
great Christian king. It will happen in this way: 
When you return to your ships, you will find 
treachery; there will be a fight and you will re¬ 
ceive a serious wound. You will come so near 
death that you will be borne to your ship on your 
shield. But seven nights after, you will recover. 
Then you will be baptized.” 

All this happened just as the hermit prophe¬ 
sied. 

Olaf came back to his fleet to find that a treach¬ 
erous attack had been made by some who had 
pledged themselves as friends. In restoring order, 
Olaf received a dangerous wound and had to be 
carried to his ship on his shield. When he had re¬ 
covered—it was just seven days after—he came to 
the hermit and asked him where he had learned 
so much wisdom. 

“What I am permitted to know,” answered the 
old man, “is by the grace of the Christian God.” 

Then Olaf knew what he had already surmised 
—that the wise hermit was a believer in the new 
faith of Christ. 

“What you have told me,” said the chieftain, 
“impresses me a thousand times more than Poppo’s 
hot iron. I believe you to be an honorable and a 
pious man but I marvel that you can possess such 
great knowledge of the secret things of life and 


216 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


yet be so humble. Pray, teach me something of 
your faith.” 

“Willingly,” replied the old man, smiling. And 
day after day Olaf came to the kindly hermit to 
sound his wisdom. 

Olaf with his noble mind realized that he had 
met another with great intelligence who thought 
honestly. The young Viking, himself, never acted 
against the dictates of his conscience. When he 
went on raids, he was conforming to the only code 
of honor that he knew. 

“To kill for the sake of killing or to plunder 
is one thing,” explained his teacher. “To kill in 
defending one’s land, one’s religion or one’s friends 
is another.” 

A new light came into the Norseman’s eyes. 
That difference was not marked in his Viking code. 

The weeks went by. Olaf came every day to the 
hermit. For the second time in his life, a great 
interest took possession of both mind and heart. 
There came consolation for the beloved Geyra’s 
death. A new beacon star shone through the 
clouds, dispelling the gloom. The door to a new 
life stood open: “Welcome to the weary; hope for 
the hopeless” was over the portal. Perhaps it was 
worth trying? 

Olaf’s men had watched their leader with inter¬ 
est as he continued his daily visits with the hermit. 
Finally some of them sought the learned man on 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 217 


their own account to hear about the new religion. 
The result was that before these doughty Vikings 
left the Scilly Islands, one and all were baptized 
in the faith of the Christ. 

They came to England. 

The peasants in the coast towns heard with dis¬ 
tress that the fierce Ola, the Russian, had arrived; 
but there was no cause for fear. Olaf was now 
a Christian as were the people of England. The 
days of his Viking raids were over. 

There was, however, considerable excitement in 
the town where the Vikings landed, for quite an¬ 
other reason. All the unmarried men of the dis¬ 
trict had assembled so that the witty—and wealthy 
—Irish Princess Gyda could choose a husband. 
The princess was a sister of the king of Dublin, 
had married an English nobleman, become a 
widow and now with his vast estates to manage, 
wished to find a helpmate. 

Of all Gyda’s matrimonial might-bes, the 
Knight Alvine was the most powerful. In fact he 
had not the slightest doubt about winning the lady, 
and proposed to her immediately after her hus¬ 
band’s death. Gyda dropped her eyes and said 
she appreciated his generous offer but that she 
must have time to think it over. Finally she sug¬ 
gested the assembly. The Knight Alvine had 
thought it very becoming in Gyda to arrange this 
public way of acknowledging him as her future 


218 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


husband. For she would of course select him. Was 
he not the most desirable marriageable man for 
miles around? So Alvine came to the meeting in 
his most elegant costume, ready to take over his 
new duties with the grace and dignity that became 
such a perfect knight. 

But the other young men in the district were not 
so sure as was Alvine about the choice of the prin¬ 
cess. It might be that one or another of them 
had been the object of a silent and albeit proper 
and judiciously hidden admiration from the noble 
lady. This, perhaps, was the only way she could 
make known the real wish of her heart. Other 
young dandies in far-away towns had heard of the 
witty—and wealthy—princess and thought they 
would try their luck. Thus Alvine was surprised 
to find a whole gathering of possibilities ready to 
dispute his indisputable title. But he only held 
his head the higher and thought: 

“They are fine birds now, but wait until the 
Lady Gyda comes. Then they shall see!” 

When the fair Gyda did come, she swept right 
by the pompous Alvine as though she didn’t see 
him at all. 

“Such exquisite taste,” thought the latter. “She 
doesn’t wish to offend them by declaring herself 
at once.” And he stroked his mustachios and 
dawdled with his sword to show similar good taste. 

Apart from the rest stood Olaf and his Viking 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 219 


crew watching the party. To conceal his dis¬ 
heveled appearance (they had had a stormy pas¬ 
sage and did not have time to change their clothes), 
Olaf had cast a shaggy coat over his broad shoul¬ 
ders. 

The Lady Gyda walked through the crowd of 
admirers nodding to one, greeting another and 
smiling on a third. She was clever enough to 
know that it is not so easy to choose a desirable 
husband especially when one is witty—and 
wealthy. She also knew enough not to select a 
candidate for the fine appearance he made in his 
clothes. 

Suddenly the princess became aware of a gaze 
that caused her to stop short. A pair of eyes were 
twinkling at her with a look quite different from 
the abject glances of her suitors. The owner of 
the eyes did not in fact seem like a suitor at all. 
He was roughly dressed—apparently a foreigner 
*—and he seemed to view with a quiet amusement, 
the whole peacock display without being a part 
of it. 

It was, however, Gyda’s party and she had a 
right to know the names of the people who came. 
So she walked straight up to the smiling stranger. 

“And who are you?” said she. 

“My name is Ola,” replied the Viking simply. 
“I am a sailor.” 

The princess looked up into the frank face, so 


220 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


bronzed by the wind that the blond disheveled 
hair seemed white in comparison. She looked 
straight into those eyes that seemed so true and 
good; yet said so distinctly: “I am your master.” 

Without a bit of reasoning, she met this silent 
challenge with: 

“If you will have me, you are my choice.” 

“I shall certainly not say ‘no,’ ” smiled the owner 
of the blue eyes, “but may I ask my lady’s name 
and birth?” 

“I am a king’s daughter from Ireland,” replied 
the damsel. “I married the ruler of these estates, 
but now that he is dead I seek a helpmate to whom 
I can entrust my affairs. My name is Gyda.” 

It was many years since our hero had lost his 
beloved Geyra. After the restless career of an ad¬ 
venturer, he longed again for a home. And life 
had another meaning for him since he had accept¬ 
ed the faith of Christ;—a Viking’s existence of pil¬ 
lage and raid was no longer possible. Perhaps, 
too, this slender Irish girl with her intelligence 
and charm recalled the star-eyed object of his first 
adoration. At any rate, Olaf and Gyda discussed 
the matter, and, as a result, were formally be¬ 
trothed. 

Imagine the anger of the slighted Knight Alvine 
when the truth dawned on him. He raged. He 
stormed. He frothed. He actually tore some of 
his beautiful clothes. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 221 


“Satisfaction!” he fumed. “I will have satis¬ 
faction!” 

Now it was the English custom that, when there 
were two contestants for such an important thing 
as a lady, particularly a beautiful—and wealthy— 
one, there should be a trial by arms to decide the 
matter. The Knight Alvine was a clever swords¬ 
man and challenged Olaf to a tournament. To be 
sure, the lady had apparently decided the matter 
herself, but Alvine demanded a higher appeal over 
her very poor judgment. Who would have 
thought that Gyda, famous for her wit, could have 
been so stupid? Why, she knew nothing about this 
strange “Ola,” had never seen him before! 

To the distress of his newly betrothed, Olaf ac¬ 
cepted Alvine’s challenge. 

“But if you challenge, I choose the weapon,” 
said the Norseman. “We shall fight with the bat- 
tle-ax.” 

“Let the fellow fight with his crude battle-ax,” 
answered Alvine haughtily. “We shall use a 
gentleman’s weapon—the sword.” 

It was no little single-handed engagement be¬ 
tween Olaf and his English opponent. There 
were to be twelve men on each side chosen by the 
respective leaders. Each selected the eleven best 
fighters he could find, Olaf’s men all being armed 
with axes and Alvine’s with swords. 

The tournament was on! 


222 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


Alvine came at Olaf, brandishing his sword. 
Olaf made two quick strokes with his ax: with the 
first he knocked the sword from his rival’s hand; 
with the second he knocked Alvine flat. The other 
eleven Vikings did practically the same to their 
Opponents. In a short time all of Alvine’s “gentle¬ 
men fighters” were kicking and scrambling on the 
ground, while the sturdy Vikings bound them fast. 
In the old days, Olaf’s men would have made short 
work of the vanquished, but now that they were 
Christians, they contented themselves with a public 
humiliation of their foe. And humble they were 
indeed, when they found themselves spared further 
rough treatment. 

The Knight Alvine was not quite clear as to 
just what had happened until it was over. Then 
he ruefully realized that the only thing for him 
after such a disgrace was exile. In fact the Eng¬ 
lish custom demanded the exile of the unsuccessful 
contestant and accorded the winner not only the 
disputed prize but all the belongings of the van¬ 
quished! Thus Olaf became rich in a day, for the 
possessions of the Knight Alvine were turned over 
to him. But the main prize was of course the 
charming Gyda, and, twice won, he found her 
doubly charming as his bride. 

Now came peaceful happy days into the life of 
the wanderer. The pair lived sometimes in Eng¬ 
land, sometimes in Dublin at the court of Gyda’s 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 223 


father. It was, indeed, much like Olaf’s first great 
adventure when he had wed Geyra in Vendland. 
It was not, however, quite the same. The other 
had been the first. Olaf never forgot his Geyra 
and the wonderful days spent in her realm by the 
Baltic Sea. 

And there was another longing in Olafs soul. 
It was to return to his own people and the land of 
his birth, Norway. The hermit’s prophecy still 
rang in his ears: 

“You will be a great Christian king.” 

Of what kingdom? 

Olaf’s true origin was not known, but somehow 
throughout the Far North and in the British 
Isles, a rumor spread that a prince of the line 
sprung from the god Frey, would come out of the 
West to claim Norway as his own. 

1 Danevirke is still considered by many patriotic Danes to 
be the proper boundary between their land and Germany. It 
now lies in Germany. 

^his is one of the first historical instances where the Norse 
nationality is threatened from the south. 

3 Other historians do not agree with Snorra as to some of 
these details but the tale as here told is based on Snorra’s own. 

4 Blue-Tooth was Denmark’s first Christian king and really 
became a good Christian. At Jellinge in Denmark there still 
stands the Christian rune-stone that Blue-Tooth erected over 
his father’s grave. 

5 As you will remember from the story of False Gods and 
True . 



224 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


6 The raven is Odin’s sacred bird. 

7 See the story, The Ring in the Temple Door. 


XIII 

THE VOWS OF THE JOM VIKINGS 

Earl Haakon, Ruler of Nor ^ ” * T 

way 

Sven Fork-Beard, King of 
Denmark 

Sigvald, Earl of the Jom 
Vikings 1 

Vaughn, the unconquerable 
Bua, the battle-beaten 
Vikings from Jomsborg 
Sigurd, the handsome 

Place : Denmark and at Horunga Bay in Norway. 

OUR the mead, fair sister Tyra, for our 
A guests, the Vikings from Jom!” cried Fork- 
Beard, the new king of Denmark as he stood on 
the steps of his father’s throne. 2 The Princess 
Tyra, standing by her brother’s side, bowed her 
head. 

“My Lord,” said she in a low voice, “spare me 
this humiliation. Let another pour for these Vik¬ 
ings from Jom.” 

“Hush!” warned the new king sharply, “no one 
but a king’s daughter should pour the coronation 
drink for our distinguished guests.” 

“The daughter of King Blue-Tooth is a Chris¬ 
tian as her father was,” answered Tyra coldly. 

225 


an t^ritz j ^ of £arl 

E : lm9 Haakon 

Sven J 

The Vengeance, Ingeborg’s 
father 

Tyra, Princess of Denmark 
Ingehorg, a Norwegian 
beauty 


226 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


“What would our dead father say if he saw me 
pouring mead for these heathen?” 

The noise of the feasting quieted down. Ques¬ 
tioning glances were cast toward the pair stand¬ 
ing at the foot of the High Seat. Was there a 
hitch in the ceremonies? 

“Tyra,” protested Fork-Beard in a whisper, “re¬ 
member our uncertain throne. What is this Chris¬ 
tianity compared with a powerful alliance? The 
Jom Vikings are a host in themselves and their 
chief Earl Sigvald there, has just married Astrid, 
daughter of the king of Vendland!” 

“Heathen, all of them!” was Tyra’s haughty re¬ 
ply. “But, my Lord, for your sake I shall pour— 
on this condition: that after the coronation toast, 
you drink to the new Christ.” 

The queenly Tyra moved over to the seats of 
honor and filled the beakers of the fierce Jom 
chieftains: first of Earl Sigvald; then of the battle- 
beaten Bua; then of Vaughn, the unconquerable; 
finally of Sigurd, the handsome son of Bua, proud 
of his prowess and his wealth of tawny hair. Ter¬ 
rible and imposing guests they were, but the hand 
of Tyra never trembled. 

“Skaal!” 3 cried Fork-Beard mounting the an¬ 
cient High Seat of his fathers. And when every¬ 
body was quiet, he added: 

Well, what King-Fork added, remade the map 
of northern Europe. According to Viking cus- 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 227 


tom, a new king when drinking the coronation 
toast, must make a vow. The guests waited in sus¬ 
pense to hear what the vow would be. There had 
already been considerable drinking, particularly 
among the Jom Vikings, who had not come all 
the way from their castle in Vendland for nothing, 
and he knew it would have to be something of a 
vow to impress his boisterous allies. 

“Friends,” went on Fork-Beard, “hear my vow: 
[Before three winters have passed I’ll be king of 
England. I shall kill King Ethelred or drive him 
out!” 4 

That was a vow, indeed! The chieftains from 
Jom looked at one another, open-mouthed. 

“Now for my toast!” spoke the eyes of the Prin¬ 
cess Tyra as she fixed her brother with a command¬ 
ing gaze. It was plain that there was more than 
one imperious will in the family. 

“The Kristi Beaker!” shouted Fork-Beard, wav¬ 
ing his horn. And everybody drank including the 
Jom Vikings, who, while not members of the new 
faith, were not going to let such a good chance for 
another drink pass them by. This doughty assem¬ 
bly were not used to being outdone either in drink¬ 
ing or vowing. Having excelled every one in the 
former, they were in the mood for the latter. Up 
rose the wily Earl Sigvald. 

“Skaal!” he cried and before the company had 
time to get their breaths, he added: “Friends, hear 


228 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


my vow: Ere three winters are ripe, I shall 
be king of Norway. As for Earl Haakon who 
rules there, I’ll kill him or drive him out!” 

“Hear!” cried the battle-beaten Bua, also rising 
and brandishing his cup like a weapon: “I vow 
that I will follow our valiant Earl Sigvald and 
never leave him until Haakon is driven out!” 

“I, too!” shouted Sigurd, Bua’s handsome son, 
tossing his tawny locks: “I vow that I will follow 
Sigvald and my father until the Jom Vikings con¬ 
quer Norway!” 

Vaughn, the unconquerable, wished to outvow 
even his companions from Jom. 

“Down with Earl Haakon of Norway!” he bel¬ 
lowed. “When the Jom Vikings decree his doom, 
it is sealed. But, my friends, did you ever hear of 
Ingeborg, the toast of all Norway? I vow that I 
shall kill her father and carry her off. Skaal!” 

Now indeed the hand of the Princess Tyra trem¬ 
bled; not in fear but in anger. 

“So much regard have these heathen for the 
women,” she muttered: “In Christ’s name, I vow 
that I will never submit to another indignity from 
them!” 

And with that she swept from the hall like an in¬ 
jured goddess. 

Her absence however was not noticed, for the 
confusion had become indescribable. The Jom 
Vikings cheered, other chieftains began declaim- 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 229 


ing and on every side vows were made that nobody 
listened to. It became a very wild coronation party 
and therefore a complete success, judged from the 
standards of that day. 

Next morning, it was another matter. The Jom 
Vikings awoke with severe headaches and agreed 
among themselves that they had taken not only 
too much to drink, but too many vows. What was 
to be done about it? A vow in Viking etiquette 
was a serious thing. In fact if an attempt were 
not made to fulfill these rash promises, the warriors 
would lose caste and the word “Jom” would fall 
into discredit. So we find Earl Sigvald and his 
fierce companions sober but determined, assem¬ 
bling an expedition to conquer Norway. Stories 
of Fork-Beard’s feast and rumors of the vows 
spread from land to land, until every one in the 
Far North had heard the news. 5 

Among those who heard the tidings, one of the 
most interested, you may imagine, was Earl Haa¬ 
kon, who began at once to prepare a resistance 
against such a terrible enemy. He was no longer 
so young as in the days when he had defended 
Norway against other intruders, but he was still 
the shrewd fearless leader, beloved of his people. 
And now he had three fine sons to help him. Espe¬ 
cially was the eldest, Earl Erik, to prove of great 
assistance. (He was called “Earl” as his father’s 
chosen heir.) Active and energetic like his father, 


230 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


the young Erik was soon busy in sending out the 
war arrows. The darts passed from hand to hand 
after the century-old custom, and soon the whole 
country was alive with preparations to aid in re¬ 
pelling the adventurers from Jom. 

One day Earl Haakon sat at dinner when a 
peasant from a newly-arrived boat forced his way 
into the earl’s presence. 

“The Jom Vikings have come!” cried the peas¬ 
ant. 

“What proof have you?” asked Earl Haakon, 
rising. 

The peasant held out the stump of an arm. “Is 
that proof enough?” he replied. 

It was indeed true. The swift, cruel Jom Vi¬ 
kings were already in the land, spreading terror 
among the peaceful inhabitants. Earl Haakon 
boarded his ship and rowed into the different 
fiords, up along one side and out along the other, 
stopping neither day nor night until he had given 
the word personally to every vessel waiting there. 
Meanwhile his son, Earl Erik, led the army south¬ 
ward on forced marches to relieve the stricken 
districts. 

Wherever they came, the Jom Vikings plun¬ 
dered and laid waste. They killed the men, took 
the women as slaves and brought the cattle and 
other booty on board their ships. But they could 
not learn where Earl Haakon himself was sta- 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 231 


tioned for nobody would tell them. Finally an old 
farmer came to Bua, the battle-beaten, and said: 

“You are no warriors, killing defenseless people 
and driving cows and calves along the seashore. 
If you were real fighters you would seek out the 
bear, especially when his cave is so near.” 

“What bear does this fellow mean?” asked Bua. 

“I mean Earl Haakon,” answered the farmer. 
“He rowed into that fiord yesterday. He has a 
ship or two—perhaps three—and doesn’t know you 
are near.” 

Bua and his men at once climbed into their ships, 
leaving the cattle and booty they had been collect¬ 
ing on the strand. 

“Let us follow the old fellow’s hint,” cried Bua, 
“there may be something in it. After all it is 
Haakon we are seeking.” 

The word was sent to Earl Sigvald and with all 
their ships united, the Jom Vikings rowed up to 
block the fiord and cage “the bear.” 

The meeting place of these rival forces has been 
famous ever since. It was called Horunga Bay. 6 
And there the wily Jom Vikings found their prey 
—the “bear” with not three but one hundred and 
eighty ships! For Earl Haakon had just com¬ 
pleted the rounding up of his fleet and had joined 
forces with his son Erik. It was certainly more 
than the Jom Vikings had bargained for. They 
had in all only sixty ships. On the other hand 


232 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


their vessels were much larger and higher than 
Earl Haakon’s, whose ships could be more easily 
boarded from above while it was a difficult thing 
to fight one’s way up to the decks of the Jom 
dragons. Then, too, the forces of Earl Sigvald 
were a reckless crew who had come for the ex¬ 
press purpose of conquest Inferiority of numbers 
piqued their dare-deviltry; they were used to that 
sort of thing. And so they cleared for battle with 
a gusto that boded ill for the peasants of Norway. 

It was indeed a sight to make the flapping sea¬ 
gulls wheel and scream and seek their nests on the 
most inaccessible cliff-sides. Well might the stern 
rocks themselves tremble, for Norway’s fate hung 
in the balance. Was the fortress of the Norse gods, 
the cradle of a proud and ancient race, to fall into 
the hands of strangers? 

Earl Haakon, clever as he had been in assem¬ 
bling his men, was not so sure of victory as in the 
old times. 

“Strengthen my faith, Odin, All-Father,” he 
prayed. “Put courage in the hearts of my sons 
and you, oh, Tor, teach my men to strike, for we 
are fighting your battle as well as our own.” 

“Like two rows of gigantic sea-serpents the two 
fleets of Viking ships lined up for the fight. All 
the boats on each side were bound to one another 
so as to present a solid front. The line on the de¬ 
fending side was much longer, but the terrible 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 233 


Jom Viking craft rose like pre-historic sea-mon¬ 
sters from the waves, towering over their op¬ 
ponents. The backs of these reptiles swarmed with 
warriors and lances, battle-axes and spears glit¬ 
tered like so many scales. 

In the midst of the Jom Viking line stood the 
standard of the crafty Earl Sigvald. Opposite him 
Earl Haakon was stationed. Sigvald had twenty 
ships in his division while Haakon had sixty. The 
sturdy Bua with his handsome son Sigurd led an¬ 
other division of twenty ships and across from them 
was Haakon’s son Erik with sixty vessels. Vaughn 

THE FLEET OF JOM 
Bua Sigurd Earl Sigvald Vaughn 


P P P 



P P P 


Earl Erik Earl Haakon Sven 

THE FLEET OF NORWAY 

was in command of the remaining twenty from 
Jom while across from his was Haakon’s second 
son Sven with sixty ships. Thus you may imagine 
them—two impressive lines—each row of dragon 
heads stretched forward with opened maws as if 
to devour the other—and now the taller row be¬ 
gins to move forward slowly for Earl Sigvald is 
attacking. 


234 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


The signal is given. There is a rain of spears 
and javelins. And as the heavy Jom monsters 
crunch up against the smaller craft there is a surge 
of warriors over the tall sides down to the decks 
where Norway’s yeomen are waiting them. Ah, 
Earl Haakon, your force is superior in numbers 
but never before has there been such a tax on all 
your strength. These are terrible men, these Jom 
Vikings. Pray to your Norse gods. Pray to Odin. 
Pray to Tor. For unless they favor your cause, 
you know you can not win. 

Earl Haakon’s division holds fast against the 
onslaught. The enemy can not remain on his ships 
even though they swarm down from above. The 
young Erik, too, makes a valiant stand. It is his 
first great trial of strength and a noble resistance 
he offers to the battle-beaten Bua. 

But Sven, Haakon’s second son! The attack of 
his opponent Vaughn is more awful than any on¬ 
slaught he ever dreamed of. He is a brave young 
man, but he lacks the command over his followers 
that his elder brother has. His men become con¬ 
fused. The ships quiver as though they were about 
to break in pieces. In another minute the terrible 
Jom warriors will be in possession and slaughter 
all. It were best to flee while there is time. 

“Hold! Sven, hold!” cries Erik, his brother, as 
from his side he sees in dismay that Sven is yield¬ 
ing. But Sven’s boats continue to withdraw 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 235 


while the Jom monsters crunch forward, and 
Vaughn’s men, made super-human by their suc¬ 
cess, are about to overpower the whole division. 

In another moment a new leader is standing by 
Sven’s side. “Hold, brother, hold!” cries Erik 
who has personally come behind the fray from 
his ships and now stands to strengthen his failing 
brother. The men look at his bold outstanding 
figure, and gain courage. “For Norway—for your 
lives—hold the line!” shouts the brave Erik. . . . 
And the line wavers less. . . . Then it holds! 

He has performed a miracle. 

But alas for Erik’s own division. Bua and Si¬ 
gurd, grasping the advantage of his absence, renew 
their attack with all the whirlwind force of a des¬ 
perate crew. The Norsemen look for their leader. 
He has disappeared. He has fallen perhaps? 
Some call his name, but there is no answer. Terror 
seizes the hearts of the Norsemen. Now the Jom 
vessels are forcing themselves in between the more 
fragile boats under Erik’s command. The bonds 
that hold the ships together are being cut by the 
enemy. The Norsemen try to interfere. Bua and 
Sigurd, with his tawny hair flying in the wind, 
lead their fellows like strange revengeful gods. 
Erik’s ships, separated from the rest and from each 
other, have turned in flight! 

At his post in the center, Earl Haakon sees 
Erik’s division shattered to pieces. The whole 


236 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


Norwegian line is trembling under the crushing 
attack; in a moment, it seems, all will be lost. 
Have his gods deserted him? Will the divine 
friends in Aasgaard see their own descendants 
driven from their heritage, or have the Norse folk 
—or he himself, perhaps—committed some sin for 
which the gods demand atonement? On his knees 
under the rain of weapons, Earl Haakon prays to 
his protecting deities as he never has before. 

“Great Odin, mighty Tor,—desert not your peo¬ 
ple in their direst need! All I have—the best, the 
most precious, I promise as an offering. Haakon 
kneels, and in the name of his father and his 
father’s father who before him upheld the ancient 
faith, beseeches your help.” 

The sky darkened. Then came a clatter that 
deafened the noise of the fighting. Had the gods 
really harkened to Haakon’s appeal? Was it Tor 
in his goat car or had Odin himself, with the wild 
Valkyries, rallied at his call? 

At any rate, large stones of hail were falling, 
the largest the Jom Vikings had ever seen. It rat¬ 
tled on their shields and helmets, collected in piles 
on the decks and splashed menacingly around the 
monster ships. And the sky became darker and 
darker. 

“The gods are with us!” cried Earl Haakon 
above the storm. “Give them of your best, my 
countrymen. Forward against Jom!” 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 237 


With renewed courage, the men in Haakon’s di¬ 
vision pressed against their opponents. Terrified 
by this unexpected assistance from the skies, Earl 
Sigvald and his men had already paused. Before 
they could resume fighting, they were on the de¬ 
fensive instead of being the aggressors. The on¬ 
slaught was mighty and, combined with the hail, 
seemed superhuman. The crafty Earl Sigvald was 
brave in attack, but in defeat he never wished to 
be among the prisoners. The tide of battle had 
turned; the Jom Vikings were being defeated, and 
unless they made haste to withdraw, they would 
meet a terrible fate as captives. 

Earl Sigvald cut the bonds that held his ships 
together and fled. His other sea-monsters lurched 
back, turned and scurried away. Vaughn, the fear¬ 
less fighter, still held his own against Sven, and 
saw the flight of Sigvald with dismay and wrath. 

“We have not lost! We stand firm! Don’t fly!” 
cried Vaughn. 

But Earl Sigvald would not hear. 

Vaughn, in his anger, sent an arrow flying after 
his former friend. It struck the man at the rudder, 
but the crafty earl only urged his rowers to pull 
faster. Thirty-five of the other Jom boats fol¬ 
lowed. 

Erik, Haakon’s son, had in the meantime re¬ 
turned to rally his division. He commanded sev¬ 
eral of his ships to surround the large sea-dragon 


238 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


where the battle-beaten Bua stood. Bua’s men 
were now hard-pressed. 

“Up over the sides!” shouted Erik. 

And his inspired warriors swarmed up over one 
another’s shoulders to reach the decks of the taller 
ship. Bua’s men took everything they could lay 
their hands on, and struck them back. But their 
force is too small. Their defense is weakened. 
And now the Norwegians have gained a foot-hold 
and are driving the wearied Jom crew back to the 
stern of their own vessel. 

A rugged peasant whose home has been plun¬ 
dered by the raiders, stands over Bua and gives 
him such a slash that his nose cracks open. But 
Bua in turn whirls at his opponent and actually 
cuts him in two with the blow. It is a ghastly 
combat! Bua has lost and he knows, too, that it 
will not be pleasant for captives in that land where 
the Jom Vikings have made their name hated. But 
the booty he has taken—that, at least, the trium¬ 
phant enemy shall never regain. He lifts up two 
chests full of loot, and cries: 

“Overboard—all Bua’s men!” 

Then he leaps from his ship into the surf and 
many of his men follow his example. 

Earl Erik now stood commander of the sea mon¬ 
ster on which the sturdy Bua so proudly sailed 
from Denmark. But he did not remain there long 
for he was needed elsewhere. While other of 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 239 


Bua’s ships were easy prey after their leader dis¬ 
appeared under the waves, the men around the 
fierce Vaughn were still fighting like demons. 
Earl Erik himself was forced to admire the wild 
courage of “the unconquerable.” But Vaughn’s 
resistance was hopeless; Erik finally overcame him 
and had him fastened with ropes so that he could 
not move. With twenty-nine other exhausted pris¬ 
oners, the warrior was carried ashore. 

Meanwhile Earl Haakon found his share of 
danger. As he led his division forward, the mad¬ 
dened men from Jom surged around him, trying 
with all their might to drag him down. His armor 
finally became so torn that he had to pull off the 
pieces and cast them away. A court bard long 
after described the event: 

“That coat by a noble maid was wrought— 

(Hark the clatter of swords!) 

That armor, when pierced, was good for naught; 

(Hark the clatter of swords!) 

On the sand he threw it, the ring-woven coat, 

And stood uncovered where missiles smote, 

As he cleared the foe from his dragon boat— 
(Hark the clatter of swords!)” 

The defeated Jom Vikings were seated along a 
tree trunk awaiting their doom. That doom, they 
were sure, would not be long in coming; swift and 
terrible it would be as a thunderbolt from the war- 


240 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


god Tor. Silent they sat, their weary heads erect 
for they still bore the name and upheld the honor 
of that castle of Jom 7 back in Vendland—even 
though their Earl Sigvald had fled. That they 
should die was a little thing compared to a flaw in 
the reputation of Jom. Along came a bearded 
Norwegian swinging an ax. 

“Where is Vaughn, the unconquerable?” he 
cried in a terrible voice. “Where is the scoundrel 
that has abused my daughter’s name?” 

It was the father of Ingeborg, the famous 
beauty whom Vaughn had vowed he would carry 
off. 

“Where is Vaughn?” repeated the swarty chief¬ 
tain. “Ah-ha! Here he is, the villain! You 
swore at Fork-Beard’s feast that you would kill 
me. Now we shall see which of us kills the other 
—Ha-ha!” And with a demon-like laugh, he 
swung the battle-ax. 

The Jom Vikings’ feet were tied together, the 
same rope running from prisoner to prisoner. But 
their hands were free. 

“We will begin with the first one,” laughed the 
warrior diabolically. “And Vaughn can count 
heads until his turn comes.” 

Then, with a swing, he severed the neck of the 
first in the line. Vaughn with stern features gazed 
into space as though nothing had happened. The 
bearded executioner approached the next victim; 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 241 


another head rolled on the ground. Those were 
mighty blows from the arm of Ingeborg’s wrathy 
father! 

One of the Jom Vikings turned to his com¬ 
panion. 

“See,” he cried, “I have a brooch-pin in my 
hand. If I am conscious after my head is severed, 
I shall stick the pin into the earth.” 

But his head rolled off just like the others and 
the brooch fell from the nerveless hand. Crunch! 
Crash! His companion had followed him. Inge¬ 
borg’s father had apparently as much strength as 
ever in his angry arm. 

The next victim was a very handsome fellow 
with thick tawny curls hanging down to his shoul¬ 
ders. The young man was evidently proud of his 
hair for he combed it carefully over his head as he 
stretched his neck for the fatal blow. 

“Don’t let the blood come into my hair,” he 
begged. 

A Norwegian standing by, took the hair and 
held it fast. The ax fell. The prisoner gave a toss 
with his fair head which brought the Norwegian’s 
hands under the weapon. The blow fell on the 
hands, cutting them both off while the blade clove 
deep into the earth. 

“Stop!” cried Earl Erik who had come up. 
“Who is that handsome fellow?” 

“My name is Sigurd,” said the warrior of the 


242 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


locks. “I am the son of Bua the battle-beaten.” 
And he added haughtily, “All the Jom Vikings are 
not dead yet.” 

“That was a bold but clever trick, worthy of the 
son of Bua,” answered the earl. “Will you have 
mercy, Sigurd?” 

“It depends upon who offers it,” replied the pris¬ 
oner coldly. 

“One who can grant it,” said the earl. “I am 
Erik, Earl Haakon’s son.” 

“Then I accept,” answered the tawny-haired 
youth and he was loosened from the ropes. 

Ingeborg’s father witnessed the incident with no 
pleasant countenance. He had been leading up 
to the great event—the execution of the hated 
Vaughn—but now he decided to stage the final 
scene before there were further acts of mercy. 

“However many you may pardon, Earl Erik,” 
said he, drawing himself up like a threatening 
Vengeance, “one shall not have mercy. Let 
Vaughn eat his vow!” 

With a stride and a swing, he made for his prey. 
The Jom Viking sitting beside Vaughn deliberate¬ 
ly stumbled in the ropes and fell over the feet of 
Vengeance. The latter floundered and slipped; in 
a twinkling Vaughn leaped up, grasped the ax, 
wielded it with all the might of a Jom Viking— 
and Ingeborg’s father lay beheaded among his 
headless victims. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 243 


After all it was Vaughn that killed Ingeborg’s 
father. 

Earl Erik watched this impudent performance 
in amazement Captured, bound, defenseless— 
these fierce young warriors resisted as long as there 
was a breath of life in them. A true Norseman 
was Erik and even though his fellow-countryman 
had been slain, he admired the brave unconquered 
spirit of this enemy. 

Erik approached Vaughn. Gazing into the 
calm fearless eyes of that sturdy warrior he saw 
in their depths, a noble soul. 

“Vaughn, will you go in peace?” he asked. 

“Only if my comrades may go with me,” an¬ 
swered Vaughn. 

There had indeed been bloodshed enough. 

“Loosen the ropes!” commanded the young earl. 
And so twelve of these Jom Vikings found free¬ 
dom after eighteen had met their fate under the 
ax of Vengeance. 

Meanwhile Earl Haakon had been resting by 
another fallen tree. The ship of the battle-beaten 
Bua lay half drawn up on the strand near by. Sud¬ 
denly the silence was broken by the twang of a 
bow-string. An arrow struck one of Earl Haa¬ 
kon’s companions—a richly-clad nobleman, and he 
fell on the spot. The other men rushed to the 
stranded sea-monster where they found one lone 
Jom Viking propped up among the dead. His feet 


244 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


were cut off and he was dying; all the strength of 
his last moments had been put into that shot. 

“Whom did I strike?” he gasped. 

“It was not Earl Haakon,” they replied. 

“Curse the luck!” hissed those dying lips. He 
had hoped that his final shot would reach Nor¬ 
way’s ruler. 

Then Earl Haakon no longer regretted the loss 
of his fine armor, for that coat “wrought by a 
noble maid” would have made him the mark for 
that deadly dart-arrow. 

Yes, Earl Haakon with the help of his gallant 
son had won the fight at Horunga Bay. The power 
of the dreadful Jom Vikings was broken and Nor¬ 
way could again breathe freely. But Haakon was 
not happy. The pardoning of Vaughn and his 
companions had displeased him; that was not the 
true Norse Viking spirit. And another cloud hung 
over him:—he returned to his capital in Trond- 
hjem without Erling, his youngest son. 

What had happened to the young Erling, Haa¬ 
kon’s pride? He had been with his father during 
the heat of the battle. But after Haakon had 
made his wild prayer to the gods, Erling had not 
been seen. No one dared ask, but Haakon’s own 
men whispered that just before the hail came, just 
before the wild Valkyries swept through the air on 
rushing wings, their leader in his distress promised 
his best, most precious possession to the gods—and 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 245 


then (it was only whispered, mind you—but it was 
whispered) he—had—offered—Erling—as—a— 
human—sacrifice ! 8 

Earl Erik heard the rumor. Let the great gods 
be honored indeed. The earls of Trondhjem had 
always been their staunchest supporters. But were 
these gods so cruel as to demand such an innocent 
offering? His father had perhaps been over- 
zealous. Poor little Erling! Tears started to 
Erik’s eyes as he thought of the fate of that younger 
brother. It could not be after all; his father 
would never resort to that cruel, long-abandoned 
custom, least of all when the victim should be Er¬ 
ling, the pride of their house. And yet— 

While Erik remained loyal to his father, there 
seemed to have come a rift between father and 
son. They were silent in each other’s presence. 
Neither ever mentioned Erling, but when the name 
of Vaughn was spoken, Haakon frowned. 

But Erik was glad that he had spared the valiant 
Jom Viking, and the two former foes became 
friends. Vaughn was even entertained by Erik 
at his country-place. 

“I can not forget my vow at Fork-Beard’s feast,” 
said the Jom Viking one day to his host. “You 
have heard perhaps about that.” 

Erik nodded. Every one in the Far North had 
heard. 

“And now you wish to meet the lady after kill- 


246 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


ing her father?” questioned the earl with a curious 
smile. 

“Exactly so!” admitted Vaughn. “And I should 
like to try to win her as my wife.” 

It was no easy task that Vaughn wished to un¬ 
dertake, but Erik consented to bring the two to¬ 
gether. Ingeborg naturally loathed the thought of 
meeting her father’s murderer, but Vaughn found 
Ingeborg even more beautiful and fascinating than 
rumor had painted her. And Vaughn was not 
called “the unconquerable” because of his con¬ 
quests in battle only; he knew the way to a wom¬ 
an’s heart and the more difficult the way the 
greater the glory in reaching the goal. 

Erik himself thought it would be impossible 
for his friend to win the proud Ingeborg, but the 
impossible happened. The lady finally found in 
the stalwart Jom Viking as true a lover as Erik 
had found a friend. 

In a fine ship, the gift of Earl Erik, Vaughn 
sailed back to Denmark with Ingeborg as his bride. 

So much for the cruise of the Jom Vikings who 
tried to conquer Norway. The only one of them 
that fulfilled his vow was Vaughn who lived long 
afterward in Denmark, renowned for his con¬ 
quests in war and love. 

Mom is pronounced Yum. 

2 This famous feast undoubtedly took place at the Danish 
capital Roskilde. 



STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 247 


2 Skaal , probably the best-known Scandinavian expression the 
world over means “your health.” It is said to have the same 
origin as our word skull , the inference being that in very an¬ 
cient times a toast was drunk from an enemy’s skull. Compare 
also the Scotch word skoll meaning bowl. 

4 He kept his vow: but that is another story. 

5 This feast is still famous in the Far North. In Frederiks- 
borg, Denmark’s finest castle, there is an impressive frieze of 
wall-paintings, the first of which represents this feast. The 
rest of the series represents the conquests of England by the 
Danes—the fulfillment of King Fork-Beard’s vow, and is a 
subject of which the Danes are naturally proud. 

6 Horunga Bay—in Norwegian spelled Hjaarungavaagen. 

7 The castle of Jom (Jomsborg) occupies a unique place in 
Viking history. It was built on a small island at the mouth 
of the River Oder. In those days this was a lively center of 
commerce; merchants from Venice met traders from Gardarika, 
and Greeks from Byzantium found Norsemen to purchase their 
wares. The remarkable crew of Vikings living in this castle 
knew no standard except that of bravery. Rank or birth did 
not matter, but a Jom Viking must know no fear. A descrip¬ 
tion of their mode of living still exists in an ancient composi¬ 
tion, The Saga of the Jom Vikings . All warriors were between 
the ages of eighteen and fifty. No woman could enter the 
castle. In the fine harbor three hundred Viking sea-monsters 
could ride at anchor. Remnants of Jom’s mighty walls may 
still be seen. Rare coins and other interesting antiques have 
been recovered from the remains of this castle of mystery and 
adventure. See History of the Norwegian People, by Gjerset. 

*How Earl Haakon sacrificed his son to appease his Norse 
gods has been told and retold in Scandinavian song and story. 
Saxo, the Danish monk, makes Haakon sacrifice two of his 
sons. The most poetic description of the deed is undoubtedly 


248 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


Oehlenschlaeger’s. This famous Danish dramatist in his trag¬ 
edy entitled Earl Haakon stages the scene of the sacrifice in a 
sacred grove. Among the trees are great white images of the 
dreadful gods that frighten the lad Erling, although he does 
not know the fate that awaits him. 

“Oh, father,” cries the youth, “I am afraid. That horrible 
old man stares so evilly at me.” 

“What, my son? Are you afraid of Odin?” asks Earl 
Haakon who can not bring himself to do the deed, although 
he feels that the gods require it. 

“Not the real Odin in Heaven,” answers the boy, “but that 
pale, horrid troll there, seems to seek my life!” 

Then Haakon makes the child place a white wreath of 
flowers around his hair and, kneeling, pray to Odin for his 
blessing. Haakon, behind, draws his dagger, but his courage 
fails him and the dagger falls from his hand. 

“You have lost your dagger,” cries the boy innocently. 
“When I am big, I shall have one like it and help you, 
my father, to win your battles.” 

The father is now quite unnerved, but commands the boy 
sternly to follow him behind Odin’s image. 

“Behind that horrible man?” asks the boy, trembling. 

“Come!” commands the father, “see the roses growing there. 
Not white roses, but red, blood-red, purple roses.” 

“Oh, dear father, I am so frightened of the red roses,” says 
the child, weeping. But he follows trustingly. 

A moment after, there is a shriek; the awful deed is done. 


XIV 

OLAF RETURNS TO HIS OWN 


Olaf, Prince of Dublin 
Earl Haakon, ruler of Nor¬ 
way 

Earl Erik , Haakon’s son 
Kark, Haakon’s slave 
Orm, a wealthy peasant 


Loden . 

rri , y Y merchants 

Klakka 

Gudrun, the “Sun of Lund” 
Tor a, the Lady of Remol 
Astrid, Olaf’s mother 


Place: Trondhjem, Ireland and Esthonia . 1 

Gudrun, golden lady of Lund 
Daughter of Vikings free; 

With eyes as blue as the fiord’s deep hue— 
(Depths no man can see.) 

Proud you are, as the Norway pine, 

That aloof on the mountain grows; 
Pure you are, as the mountain air— 

And cold as the mountain snows! 


Q UCH, at least, was the opinion of Earl Haakon 
^ about Gudrun, the lovely wife of the peasant 
Orm. The earl had seen her in the market-place 
when she came to town to make purchases; he had 
seen her in the village of Lund when he rode that 
way in the hope of seeing her; he had even met 
her at the gate of her husband’s farm and she had 
saluted him with respectful, unsmiling gravity as 
one should salute the great earl who ruled the 
land. And Earl Haakon fell madly in love with 

249 


250 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


Gudrun, although she was Orm’s wife, and to 
make her his own became the main desire of his 
soul. 

Tall and fair grow the women of Trondhjem; 
tall was Gudrun—and fairer than all the rest. She 
moved with the freedom of a goddess of the hunt. 
The deepest waters of the fiord were never so clear 
or blue as the true-blue eyes of Gudrun. Her 
fresh complexion glowed like the flushing cheek 
of dawn, but her beauty in its fulness, enhanced 
by a halo of golden hair, was more like a shimmer¬ 
ing noontide. Therefore the people in Lund 
called her “the sun” and the fame of the dazzling 
“Sun of Lund” became known throughout Nor¬ 
way. 

Haakon, the earl, sat in his palace at Trond¬ 
hjem and longed for Gudrun, wife of Orm. 
Haakon’s hair was gray—he was no longer young 
—but he was mighty; king in fact if not in name. 

“Ah,” thought he, “did I but dare call myself 
‘king’ and make Gudrun mine and Norway’s 
queen, the cup of life’s happiness would be full.” 

Take care, Earl Haakon! Do not overfill that 
cup! Even Odin and Tor, your gods of strength, 
may not tolerate too great an abuse of strength on 
your part. All your sacrifices can not make you a 
prince of the line of Frey and only such have ever 
borne the title “king of all Norway.” 

But Earl Haakon had rightly been popular in 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 251 


Norway. He had freed the land from the Witch- 
Queen Gunhild and ushered in a new era of pros¬ 
perity; he had extended the fame of the Norsemen 
by his brilliant defense of the Wall of Danevirke. 
Finally, with the help of his son Erik, he had de¬ 
feated the terrible Jom Vikings and his dashing 
figure was already a favorite topic for the Ice¬ 
landic skalds. But—under the surface hero-glory 
—there was surging a deep under-current of hate 
and anger against the earl. His son, Erik, sensed 
this rising tide with dread. 

“Why,” thought he, “these continued rumors 
about my brother Erling? Did my father really 
sacrifice him to the gods? 2 And now he goes to 
other extremes; this passion for fair women has 
run away with him. More than one of our sup¬ 
porters has been offended by my father’s undue 
admiration of a wife or daughter. Where will it 
stop?” 

Where, indeed, would it stop? Earl Erik did 
not know; did not dare think; would not even 
speak about it to his father for there always existed 
a strange silence between them. But many a time 
the younger man reddened with shame on hearing 
some word or jest to the disparagement of the 
older. He wanted to challenge it, but could not; 
he wanted to take the matter up with his father, 
but his pride would not let him. 

Even on the busy farm of Orm, the peasant, 


252 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


time was found to discuss the failing of Norway’s 
greatest man. 

“Haakon, our earl, is wise and brave,” said the 
stalwart Orm one day, “but he is not quite a king.” 

“A true king of the old line would never go 
about as he does,” answered a friend. “Have you 
heard he has quarreled with Tora, the Lady of 
Remul?” 

“Hush,” muttered an old crone from the chim¬ 
ney corner. “A prince of the line of Frey may 
yet come.” 

Gudrun, the wife, said nothing, but it seemed 
as though for a moment a cloud had dimmed the 
beauty of the “Sun of Lund.” She turned to the 
window to hide a frown. She gazed down the 
valley where the cherry-trees were in blossom. It 
was early summer but on the mountains there still 
lay snow, white as the cherry bloom. 

“A prince of the line of Frey.” How that 
rumor persisted! Erik heard it, too, and so often 
that he finally resolved to speak to his father in 
spite of the latter’s coldness. 

“Have you heard, my Lord,” said he respect¬ 
fully, addressing his senior, “this continued talk 
of a prince of the line of Frey?” 

“What nonsense are you talking now?” replied 
Haakon sharply. “I know of no such prince— 
save Olaf, Trygva’s son, that adventurer who, they 
say, lives in Dublin.” 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 253 


“An adventurer?” repeated Erik discreetly. 
“But suppose he sought an adventure in Norway to 
prove his lineage?” 

“Perhaps Earl Erik himself would befriend 
the adventurer?” he questioned cynically. “As he 
did Vaughn, the Viking from Jom.” 

Erik flamed with anger at this allusion to an 
enemy he had gallantly pardoned. 

“If you doubt my loyalty, Sire,” he demanded, 
biting his lips, “it were best that I should go my 
way!” 

Haakon, the earl, was white—it was the white¬ 
ness of iron heated to the smelting point. For 
once, his clever tongue had no ready answer. He 
did not really suspect his son of disloyalty, but 
the latter irritated him beyond all bounds. After 
all, the great Earl Haakon had come to trust no 
one but himself. His own greatness had affected 
him like a disease. 

The younger man was the first to continue. 

“My Lord,” he said slowly in a restrained voice, 
“I shall soon be at sea. I am planning a Baltic 
expedition. Perhaps I may serve my country bet¬ 
ter abroad, as you did at the Danevirke.” 

Haakon sat musing, alone in the gathering 
gloom. 

At the Danevirke! Those were his bravest days. 
But who had really thwarted that expedition and 
caused the Danevirke to surrender in spite of his 


254 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


defense. . . . Olaf! ... He had never 
really seen Olaf. And yet how strangely their 
fates seemed linked together. Just as his fore¬ 
fathers’ fates had always been linked with those of 
the princes of Frey, generation after generation. 

And if Olaf should come? Ah, better it were, 
forewarned, to be forearmed. Now Haakon’s 
busy brain began to build a mazy labyrinth. Plot¬ 
ting and planning had long since become second 
nature to him. So Norway’s ruler resolved to send 
a spy to Ireland to investigate this stranger who 
some said was Norway’s rightful king. 

“If this man really is Olaf, Trygva’s son,” said 
Haakon to the spy, “induce him, if possible, to 
come to Trondhjem.” And he thought to him¬ 
self, “Once Olaf is in my power here, there will 
be no more talk of the princes of Frey.” 

Haakon’s spy was a clever merchant named 
Klakka, for it was quite natural that such a well- 
known trader should travel to Dublin on a busi¬ 
ness trip. Once in the Irish capital, he had no 
difficulty in meeting the much-talked-of hero, 
“Ola” who had married a lady of royal blood. 
Ola seemed glad to meet Klakka and asked him 
many questions about Norway. 

“The Earl Haakon is practically our king,” ex¬ 
plained the trader, “but he dare not use that title 
for the people of Norway will tolerate no real 
king except a prince of the line of Frey.” 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 255 


A glad light shone in the eyes of Ola the ad¬ 
venturer. 

“God must have sent you with this message,” 
he cried. “I was born in Norway; my mother 
Astrid took me to Gardarika as a little child and 
I grew up a Russian. Since, I have wandered in 
many lands but my heart yearns for Norway. I 
am a prince of the line of Frey.” 

“You are Olaf, Trygva’s son?” exclaimed Klak- 
ka, feigning surprise and delight. “Ah, my Lord, 
if you knew how the people suffer under Haakon’s 
yoke! Then you would surely come to redeem 
your nation!” 

“Do you think they would choose me as their 
ruler?” 

“Only come. You need no army, no fleet. The 
people will flock around you, when once you are 
among them.” 

Thus it happened that Olaf arranged to return 
to Norway with Klakka and the faithful band of 
followers who had been his companions in many 
wanderings. They came over the sea unheralded. 
How great was the joy of the fair-haired adven¬ 
turer, when after an absence of twenty years, he 
stood once again on that rock-bound shore! 

Olaf’s first act was to have a tent erected where 
mass was sung in praise of the Christ that had pro¬ 
tected him through the years and finally brought 
him back to his native land. 3 This would indeed 


256 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


have shocked the great Earl Haakon, worshiper 
of Odin, had he but known. But events had taken 
such a turn since the departure of Klakka that 
Haakon was too busy to care whether Olaf was 
singing Christian mass or not. 

For the mighty earl had not been able to re¬ 
strain his passion for Gudrun, the wife of Orm. 
Night and day he had sat in his palace thinking of 
her, until he finally sent messengers begging her 
to come to him in his loneliness. 

The messengers were politely received by Orm, 
the peasant. Even when they delivered their 
strange message, he showed them only courtesy, 
bidding them partake of food and drink. Mean¬ 
while he sent a servant down the dale summoning 
a few friends to leave their tasks and come to him 
at once. Before the earl’s convoys had finished % 
their meal, a number of peasants were assembled in 
the yard outside. 

“Why have you sent for us?” “What is the rea¬ 
son for your haste?” they asked. 

“Earl Haakon has sent to fetch Gudrun, my 
wife,” answered Orm in a hard voice, “but she 
shall never go, if you will help me!” 

“She must never go!” cried one. 

“Earl Haakon insults his own people!” ex¬ 
claimed another. 

“We will stand it no longer!” added a third. 

“I have your support, then?” questioned Orm. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 257 


“Yes!” 

So Orm, the peasant, came to the great earl’s 
messengers and told them Gudrun could not come. 

“And would not!” added Gudrun who had been 
standing near, gazing down the dale toward the 
mountains, “unless he sends the Lady Tora to fetch 
me!” 

This sally, referring to the earl’s most recent 
love scandal, angered the messengers. 

“You will repent that remark when we tell the 
earl!” cried Kark, Haakon’s body-servant. 

“Pray tell him!” mocked Gudrun, tossing that 
beautiful head; those tresses dared mock the glory 
of the sun itself! 

It was many a day since war arrows went 
through that peaceful valley but now they spread 
broadcast over the land and as they were passed 
from hand to hand they bore the old message: “To 
arms, to arms!” But also a new one: “Down with 
the tyrant, Earl Haakon!” For it was the peas¬ 
ants themselves, not their sovereign, that started 
these arrows on their winged way. And it was 
other peasants that echoed the cry and sent the 
message farther on. 

Who would have guessed there were so many 
who would pass the arrows? Who would have 
thought that the once popular defender of the 
land, now stood almost friendless? But such was 
the case. Haakon had drawn too heavily on the 


258 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


good will of the people. Around every good wom¬ 
an to whom he had made improper advances, 
stood a crowd of relatives and friends ready to 
echo “Tyrant” and “Down with Earl Haakon!” 
Others attributed their aversion to him to the tales 
of his human sacrifices. Many a worshiper of Odin 
had come to feel that even that war-like deity did 
not demand the offering of a human being, slaugh¬ 
tered in cold blood. 

Meanwhile Earl Haakon waited at an elegant 
manor-house in the country, where his slaves had 
orders to bring the lovely Gudrun. How beauti¬ 
ful she was; such eyes, such color, so divinely 
formed! And soon she would be his—the famous 
“Sun of Lund,” outshining all sister stars with her 
radiant wealth of golden hair. ... So ran the 
thoughts of the gray-haired earl. 

Now the messengers come running up the road. 
But Gudrun is not with them! What does it all 
mean? 

Ah, Haakon, it means perhaps, that you have 
provoked the gods themselves with your insolence. 
The tiny war arrows have traveled even swifter 
than your slaves who already sense the trouble 
brooding in the air. 

“The whole country is rising against you, my 
Lord!” cries Kark. 

Earl Haakon can hardly believe it, but other 
excited slaves confirm the news. The earl has 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 259 


barely time to leave the house before a mob is 
collected around it. He makes his way with a 
small armed escort to a deep valley, which has 
borne the name “Earls-dale” ever since. 

When the peasants found that Earl Haakon had 
left the manor-house, they set spies at the cross¬ 
roads to hinder him from reaching the fiord where 
he could join his ships. This was also his plan, 
and sending his men away after one night spent 
in the valley, he decided to seek refuge with his 
one slave Kark at a place where he knew no harm 
could come to him. This was at the home of his 
former sweetheart, the Lady Tora of Remul. From 
there he hoped to come down to his fleet later on. 

But if it was not easy to reach his ships, so was it 
also a difficult matter to come to Remul. The 
peasant army was evidently growing. Spies were 
everywhere. Haakon had several narrow escapes. 

“Odin curse the rascals!” he muttered. “With 
the help of the gods, I shall soon punish the faith¬ 
less crew.” 

They came to a river, partly frozen over, and 
the earl rode out on the ice. But the ice was thin¬ 
ner toward the middle and he was obliged to dis¬ 
mount. The horse stumbled a few paces farther. 
Crack, went the ice and the animal was struggling 
in the icy current. The gods were treating their 
worshiper rather shabbily, but there was no time 
to think of appeasing them with sacrifices. 


260 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


Casting his cloak by the hole, the earl called to 
Kark to follow him. 

“Let them fish a while for their beloved earl!” 
Haakon cried. “Meanwhile we shall come to 
Remul.” 

But Remul and the Lady Tora seemed still 
farther away to an outlaw on foot than they had 
seemed to a nobleman on horseback. That night 
Haakon and his slave slept in a miserable cave; 
at least they tried to sleep. 

“Oh!” cried the slave, starting suddenly from 
a doze. 

“Who is that?” asked Haakon sharply. 

“I had such a horrible dream,” answered his 
minion, shivering. “An ugly black man came to 
me and told me some one was dead.” 

“Your dream means bad luck for my ships,” 
answered the earl tersely. He had long made a 
study of the dream runes and knew how to inter¬ 
pret the apparitions sent from Aasgaard. 

Again they dozed. 

“Ugh! Ugh!” shrieked Kark in a piercing voice. 

“What is the matter with you?” asked Haakon 
irritably. 

“The black man came again. He said, ‘Tell the 
earl all ways are closed!’ ” 

The earl said nothing but he thought, “Death! 
Death!” He shook himself, then wrapped his 
cloak more closely round him. In the dark the 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 261 


slave could not see how deadly pale his master had 
become. 

Finally the morning came, creeping timidly into 
the dank cave. Relieved, they arose at once, 
and bedraggled and weary continued their jour* 
ney. 

That night the Lady Tora at Remul saw a pale, 
disheveled figure standing before her. She could 
hardly believe her eyes. Was it really Earl Haa¬ 
kon! If so, why had he come? They had last parted 
in a quarrel. 

“Why do you come here?” she asked coldly. 
“Why are you not with Gudrun, the Sun of Lund, 
and the newest sweetheart of Earl Haakon?” 

“Tora,” answered the earl faintly, “I come be¬ 
cause you are my only friend.” 

“I suppose you mean,” replied the lady, “that 
Tora is good enough, when Gudrun fails.” 

“I mean,” replied her former lover, “that unless 
Tora hides me, my enemies will kill me.” 

“Your enemies?” questioned Tora. “So you 
have met Prince Olaf and he no doubt has defeated 
you. Is it therefore you come to the despised 
Tora?” 

Haakon stared at her in astonishment. 

“Prince Olaf?” he exclaimed. “Do you mean 
Olaf of the line of Frey, whom they say is in Ire¬ 
land? How should I meet him, indeed!” 

The Lady Tora laughed hysterically. 


262 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


“Always trying to deceive me—even as in the 
old days. Perhaps you think that we at Remul 
have not heard the news, how Olaf has, taken pos¬ 
session of all the ships belonging to the mighty 
Haakon!” 

The earl swayed as in a trance. It was plain 
indeed that this was news. As she steadied him 
and led him to a chair, the lady told how Olaf 
had come in secret to Norway, how the secret had 
leaked out, how throngs of peasants had rallied 
around him proclaiming him their ruler, how the 
fleet itself had given over to him. 

“But my sons,—my gallant Erik?” gasped the 
earl. 

“They say Earl Erik has sailed for the Baltic,” 
answered Tora. 

Haakon suffered a twinge of remorse. He 
thought of that brave son glowing with the ardor 
and confidence of youth. He might have averted 
this calamity, if he had not been so coldly repulsed 
by his father! 

But it was all too true. Olaf had landed just 
at the time when the people had turned against 
their earl; Klakka’s lies had become truths; things 
were even worse than the clever spy had painted 
them. 

Haakon’s wan face stirred the pity of the gentle 
lady who had once loved him above all. 4 

“I will hide you,” said she, “but—but our names 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 263 


have so often been mentioned together, that I fear 
they will come here to look for you. No—it will 
not be safe for you in the house. . . . Let me 

see. . . . Ah, there is one place where they 

will never find you. Only follow me!” 

So the Lady Tora led Earl Haakon and his 
slave Kark out of the house, through her gardens, 
past the houses of some retainers and along a little 
path. Finally they came to a great stone. Under 
the stone was a pig-sty. 

“Here I shall hide you,” cried Tora. “No one 
will ever think of looking for Earl Haakon in such 
a place!” 

It was certainly not the place where one would 
expect to find a great earl. 

“In a matter of life and death, one must yield to 
circumstances,” said the nobleman, and after Kark 
had made the hole larger with a shovel, they both 
crept into the shelter. Tora then brought branches 
and strewed them over the opening and on top of 
these placed earth and gravel. As a final touch 
she drove the pigs over the newly-made floor 
and the earl and Kark retreated farther back under 
the stone where there was a small cave. Thus 
Tora left her lover—and she never saw him again. 

Meanwhile the frank adventurer Olaf, from 
Over the sea, had won all hearts. It had happened 
to him just as to others of the line of Frey before 
him: the people recognized him as their born 


264 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


leader and flocked eagerly to his standard. Here 
right, for once, was might; the tyrant should be 
punished and his sons outlawed! 

But where was this tyrant—the once-mighty 
Haakon? He was not with the ships when they 
welcomed their new ruler. He was not at his 
palace. Certainly he was not with Gudrun, the 
golden lady of Lund, however he might like to 
have been. Then some one thought of Tora, and 
thus Olaf, led by Orm and other peasants, came to 
call on the lady of Remul. 

They found the gentle Tora sad and silent, but 
she opened her house for them, and they searched 
it in vain. Then Olaf led his men into the garden 
and mounted a large stone from which he ad¬ 
dressed them. 

In a few words he promised a reward to him 
who should deliver Earl Haakon to the men he 
had wronged. 

Behind the filth of the pig-sty sat Haakon with 
his slave and heard the speech Olaf was making, 
just over them. 

What makes you so pale, Kark?” asked the earl. 
“And now you are as black as the earth. Do you 
mean to betray me?” 

“No, no!” cried Kark protestingly. 

“We two were born the same night: there will 
not be long between our deaths,” warned the earl 
sternly. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 265 


Olaf had now finished addressing his men, and 
as they could find no trace of Earl Haakon they 
went away. But how far away, Earl Haakon 
could not tell, and as Tora did not return, he knew 
that danger was not past and they must wait in the 
cave. 

Another night came, a dreadful night. It was 
stifling in the place. Haakon could not sleep, 
but Kark slept and by the dim light of a sputtering 
candle, the earl saw that his slave did not rest well. 
He felt overcome by a mighty disgust for this 
stupid churl and finally shook him so that he 
awoke. 

“You have been dreaming. What was it about?” 
demanded Haakon. 

“Ah, I came to Trondhjem and Prince Olaf put 
a gold chain around my neck.” 

“There will be a ring of blood around your neck, 
if you seek him,” replied Earl Haakon. “Take 
care! You shall still prosper as long as I am your 
master, so do not betray me.” 

Kark was now fully awake and dared not sleep 
again for fear of Haakon; but the earl himself 
distrusted his slave more than ever. So they sat, 
each watching the other, like a pair of wolves. 
And the dreadful night wore slowly by. 

Dawn came with her blessings of light and re¬ 
newed strength, and peeped into the squalid hole 
where the two wretches sat. The longed-for light 


266 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


—what a relief! The tension on Haakon’s over¬ 
worked brain was lessened and for a moment he 
dozed. Then it was as though his overwrought 
nerves were suddenly without a master. He 
writhed and squirmed on the floor; drew up his 
heels and bent his head as though suffering from 
cramp; then tried to stumble to his feet, in the 
meantime giving a loud and terrible scream. 

Kark jumped up, frightened out of his wits. His 
master was attacking him. Out came a great knife 
from the slave’s belt—and in a moment it was 
buried in the earl’s throat. 

Thus died Haakon the mighty Earl of Trond- 
hjem and defender of Norway. The hand of a 
faithless slave has done the deed and all the pray¬ 
ers of a gentle Tora will not help him now. An 
ignominious death it was—no warrior’s glorious 
end. But will Odin deny his zealous follower at 
Valhalla’s threshold? 5 To him at least, has he been 
true. 

The following day a crooked figure—like some 
ghastly gnome—comes to Olaf’s tent with a bag 
on his back. It is Kark and he has come to claim 
a reward, for in the bag is the head of Earl Haa¬ 
kon. 

Olaf is shocked at the bloody offering and even 
more so when he learns the story of the treacherous 
slave. So Kark does not get his gold chain, but 
the bloody ring around his neck, as Earl Haakon 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 267 


prophesied. He is executed by Olafs orders. 

Great was the joy of all Norway over the re¬ 
turn of a prince of the line of Frey. Province 
followed province in electing him king and send¬ 
ing him proofs of allegiance. Olafs joy was also 
great, but it was tinged with sorrow. As he sat 
in the palace of Trondhjem, the people’s choice, 
his thoughts went back over his varied career to 
that far time when he was a fugitive from his 
own dear land. His very first memories were of 
the kind and gentle hands of his mother, Astrid, 
who had brought him safe through many troubles 
to far-away Esthonia. When they were captured 
by pirates, she was taken from him and he never 
saw or heard of her again. It had been her peril 
that had brought Olaf his safety; her life that had 
been sacrificed for his. She had no doubt perished 
long, long ago in the land of the pirates, while he 
had survived to find honor in returning to his and 
her land. Olaf conceived a longing to see the old 
home where Astrid had lived. Soon after an op¬ 
portunity came, Olaf made the journey to Viken 
where his parents had formerly lived and there 
he was advised to seek out a merchant named 
Loden. 

Loden had, one summer, been on a trading trip 
to Esthonia. Among a crowd of slaves standing in 
an Esthonian market-place he had noticed a wom¬ 
an that looked like one of his own race. She was 


268 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


pale and worn and dressed in rags but he thought 
he recognized her. 

“What is your name?” asked Loden, of the 
woman. 

“Ah,” she sighed, “it is hard to tell. I have no 
name, I am a slave.” But she spoke in his own 
tongue. 

“Tell me,” continued Loden, eagerly. “It can 
not be that you are Astrid, wife of Trygva who 
was once our governor in Viken?” 

The woman began to weep. “I hardly know. 
. . . Perhaps I once was. . . . Ah, Sire, 

if you would do a good deed, buy this poor slave 
and take her to Norway, her native land!” 

Loden was proud to be able to redeem this noble 
lady—for she was Astrid—whose disappearance so 
many years before had been the talk of Viken and 
to bring her back to her home. 

Thus it happened that when the young King 
Olaf sought Loden, the merchant, he found his 
mother. Yes, it was the same Lady Astrid of by¬ 
gone years, still a handsome woman although her 
gray hair told of years of doubt and suffering. 

“My boy, my Olaf!” cried Astrid, as he took 
her in his arms. “How I have longed for you 
through the years. If only your father might have 
seen his son— Norway*s king! But,” she added 
aglow with the joyful experience, “I must present 
you to your new father—Loden, my deliverer.” 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 269 


For Astrid had wed the kind merchant who res¬ 
cued her from bondage. 

1 Both Ireland and Esthonia, which later was so long a part 
of Russia, were in those days colonized by the Vikings. In 
Ireland the Vikings rebuilt many old ruined cities. Under 
Viking influence Dublin developed into one of the leading 
trade centers of Northern Europe. The peninsula of Esthonia 
was a part of Denmark as late as 1349. It was here that the 
Danish flag, “Danebrog”—“the only flag with a name” was 
supposed by a miracle to have fallen from heaven. 

2 See preceding story, The Vows of the Jom Vikings. 

s Compare this return of a Christian “Son of Frey” to his 
heathen Norway with a similar instance related in the story, 
Erik Blood-Ax and Haakon the Good . 

4 In the Danish play, Haakon Jarl, the great dramatist, 
Oehlenschlaeger, pictures this meeting between Haakon and 
Tora as a vivid and most romantic love-scene. In the dead 
of night Haakon, disguised, slips into the Lady Tora’s cham¬ 
ber. When assured that they are alone, he throws back his 
mantle. 

“Is it indeed Haakon?” exclaims Tora. “This white, silent 
shape standing in Tora’s room so far from the lights of the 
gay palace ?” 

“The pale shadow you see,” answers the earl, “was once 
the mighty ruler of Norway. But he fell in the strife and 
was forgotten. Now it is only his ghost that walks—frighten¬ 
ing folk by night.” 

“Oh,” cries Tora, “I am indeed revenged—revenged! But 
now my anger is gone and the old passion, love, has returned. 
Oh, I were indeed a were-wolf and no woman, if your plight 
did not move me. Come to my heart!” 

Haakon sinks into her arms and weeps. 



270 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


“You weep, Haakon?” asks the lady. “Great gods of Val¬ 
halla—when have I ever seen a tear upon that cheek before?” 

“Have you not seen stones weep when brought to the 
warmth from the cold?” he replies wildly. “The mountain 
snow melts, winter flows away in tears—yielding before the 
spring where flowers bloom for Olaf, Trygva’s son. But Earl 
Haakon is not here—it is his ghost that walks!” 

“Come, come, my Haakon,” sympathizes his sweetheart. 
“Do not talk so wildly. Your great heart has now known 
too much suffering. Let me hide you until the danger is past 
and then a better fortune will surely smile on us both.” 

6 The death of Earl Haakon is one of the best-told stories 
in all the ancient sagas of Iceland. Of Earl Haakon, the 
English writer, Lord Dufferin, says in Letters from High Lati¬ 
tudes, 1856, “He is certainly one of the most picturesque 
figures of these Norwegian dramas; what with his rude wit, his 
personal bravery, and that hereditary beauty of his race for 
which he was conspicuous above the rest. His very errors, 
great as they were, have a dash and prestige about them, which 
in that rude time must have dazzled men’s eyes, and especially 
women s, as his story proves.” 


< 

f 

XV 

THE RING IN THE TEMPLE DOOR 


Olaf, King of Norway 
Iron-Beard, Worshiper of 
Odin 

Eyvind, a magician 
Harald Grenska, Olaf’s cousin 
Leif the Lucky, Olaf’s mes¬ 
senger 


The Bishop of Norway 
The Spirit of the Ring 
Sigrid the Haughty, Queen- 
Mother of Sweden 
Gudrun, Iron-Beard’s daugh¬ 
ter 

Astrid, Olaf’s mother 


Place: Norway, especially in Trondhjem, and Sweden. 


THE CHALLENGE TO TOR 1 
N the door of Odin’s temple glistened a won- 
derful ring. There was not another such 
ring in the Far North. So bright and beautiful 
it was, that people brought their children to 
Trondhjem from a hundred miles away just to see 
it. The ring was the gift of the mighty Earl Haa¬ 
kon to the greatest of the Norse gods. 2 It shone 
with a molten magic light. It was fashioned in 
gold. 

But Odin’s mighty image sitting within knew 
that his throne was less secure than in the days 
of Earl Haakon. Tor, also, in his temple near by 
felt less sure of his old-time strength. Yes, the 
dumb idols realized even more than the priests that 
sprinkled their altars with blood that Ragnarok 
—“the twilight of the gods”—was impending; 

271 


272 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


their days were numbered. King Olaf, disciple 
of the new Christ, had willed it so. 

Olafs mother, Astrid, assembled the greatest 
people of Viken at her home, and the young king 
told them of the new religion. 

“The days of human sacrifices and Viking raids 
are past,” said Olaf to the chieftains. “The great¬ 
est blessing for Norway is peace and that can never 
be had from Odin and Tor who are war gods. I 
shall bring Norway to the real Prince of Peace 
or die trying.” 

Under Olafs influence the whole province of 
Viken gave up the old gods. His eager words 
seemed to work miracles; the multitudes came and 
were baptized. Olaf then went into the provinces 
near by, and everywhere this fair young giant, 
aglow with his mission, won followers. His man¬ 
ner was frank and winning, and he invited the 
peasants to discuss the matter with him. 

In one district, the farmers chose their three 
cleverest men to argue the cause of their Norse 
deities. The countryside assembled at the open- 
air meeting place; King Olaf stated the matter in 
simple but forceful phrases—the wise men arose 
to speak. But the first who stood began to cough; 
finally he was unable to say a word. The second 
started to speak, but suddenly began to stammer 
so that the people laughed. The third then opened 
his mouth, but the sound that came forth was so 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 273 


harsh that no one knew what he was trying to say. 
This exhibition was regarded as nothing short of a 
miracle and the peasants agreed to accept the 
Christian baptism. As success breeds success, so 
Olaf went from one triumph to another. At last, 
all Norway was Christian,—except Trondhjem, 
the fortress of the old gods. 

All save Trondhjem had bent to the eager young 
king but Trondhjem had once before stood a simi¬ 
lar test and still believed that the only true 
gods were Odin, Tor and the other Norse divini¬ 
ties. 3 

This province has indeed been first to proclaim 
its loyalty to Olaf, but by taking him as king the 
people had not agreed to take his faith. Could 
Olaf persuade them? 

The men of Trondhjem came full-armed to 
Olafs meeting. Olafs followers also came full¬ 
armed. It was plain that both sides were prepared 
to meet all arguments! After the king had made 
his plea, the people’s chosen speaker, Iron-Beard, 
arose and he neither coughed, nor stammered, nor 
was he hoarse. 

“No ruler of ours shall break our laws, even 
though he be ruler,” declared the rugged pagan 
Iron-Beard. “Even though Earl Haakon wor¬ 
shiped as we do, he broke our laws and we deposed 
him, choosing you in his stead. But you must also 
obey our laws as your forefathers did. Therefore 


274 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


we demand of you, oh, King, that you sacrifice to 
their and our gods.” 

This speech fairly bristled with meaning. It 
was straight from the shoulder, and Olaf grasped 
the situation at once as he gazed over the assembly 
that also bristled—with arms and armor. The old 
question again: “Which were the false gods; 
which the true?” The final argument of the men 
of Trondhjem was—Force. It was plain that 
Olaf s only successful argument in this case must 
be—Force. 

“I shall be glad to see the rites in your temple,” 
said the king. 

And the people, pleased at this apparent first 
submission to their demands, open a way for him 
to pass with his followers. 

The king goes into the temple. Behind him 
throng his supporters—so many of them, in fact, 
that there is hardly room left for the people of 
Trondhjem. But their chieftains are present and 
the priests are already dipping their hands in the 
bloody bowls. Blood shall be sprinkled on the 
faithful; blood shall bathe the feet of the mighty 
Tor. For the terrible Thunder God glories in 
blood and bloodshed. 

The king has a fixed, determined look in his blue 
eye. Those that have seen that look before, trem¬ 
ble; for it springs from faith in the heart—a faith 
that can move mountains, even the age-old moun- 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 27S 


tains of Norway. With heavy tread, Olaf ad¬ 
vances to Tor’s image. 

“Your ax against mine, Tor!” The clear tones 
of his young voice echo in the most sacred of the 
holy recesses. “I challenge!” 

Does not a thunderbolt crash through the roof 
blasting this bold mortal with fire? Does not 
heaven itself open to let some winged curse from 
Aasgaard settle on this infamous mortal’s head? 
No. 

The only lightning is the gleam of Olaf s gold- 
shafted ax as he strikes the great image, and the 
only thunder is the rumbling of the colossus as it 
first sways, then topples and finally crashes might¬ 
ily to the floor. Perhaps Tor intends to crush Olaf 
the offender in that fall, but Olaf is nimble as 
well as strong and leaps deftly to one side. Now 
the king’s eager followers are following his exam¬ 
ple. Other stolid images are challenging the 
might of Christ with their might, and god after 
god is pulled from its pedestal and mutilated with 
knives and axes. The confusion is terrific. The 
priests drop their bowls in amazement. Every¬ 
thing is covered with holy blood, just as if those 
dreadful images were bleeding from their wounds. 

The stern Iron-Beard who remained at the door 
to keep an eye on events both within and without, 
hears the confusion and attempts to enter the tem¬ 
ple. An armed guard of Olaf s men block the way. 


276 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


“Let me pass!” demands the rugged pagan 
fiercely. 

He tries to force his way; a blade of steel pierces 
his body and Iron-Beard, the stern apostle of a 
stern faith, breathes his last along with that dying 
religion. For that religion is now dead in 
Trondhjem. Tor did not meet the challenge of 
the Christian King Olaf. He, the supposed god 
of strength, has proved pitifully weak. Perhaps 
he is old, worn out; at any rate the fierce people 
of Trondhjem appreciate the vigor of Olaf s argu¬ 
ment and method. He comes from the temple, a 
victor. 

The people of Trondhjem have lost faith in their 
old gods; hypnotized by the shining personality of 
their new ruler. He himself, the direct descend¬ 
ant of Frey, is the most eager defender of the 
new Christ. He calls his bishop: the chiefs and 
yeomen of Trondhjem remove their helmets of war 
and receive the baptism of the Prince of Peace. 4 

THE SEARCH FOR THE RING 

“What has happened to Odin’s ring?” children 
asked of their parents. But the parents could only 
shake their heads. 

The wonderful ring from the door of Odin’s 
temple had disappeared. The temple, to be sure, 
had been destroyed along with the temple of Tor, 
according to Olaf’s orders, but the sacred treas- 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 277 


ures were kept for charity and other good uses. 
The ring only was missing. 

Meanwhile Olaf had turned the thoughts of the 
people to the building of other things than tem¬ 
ples. Fine structures were rising along the River 
Nid. Olaf was building a capital worthy of the 
haughty race of Trondhjem, a city that was to be 
the leading port of commerce in the Far North. 

“But the ring, it never could have been de¬ 
stroyed!” declared the maiden Gudrun, daughter 
of the pagan Iron-Beard. 

“Odin’s ring shall be found; it must be found. 
The strength of Odin’s power over the people lies 
in that ring!” answered Eyvind, the magician. 

“Don’t you think King Olaf has stolen it?” 
asked the maiden bitterly. “Being a murderer, he 
is no doubt a robber as well.” 

“Odin will hold the robber to account!” said 
the magician without directly answering her ques¬ 
tion. 

The murder of Iron-Beard, however, had not 
been the fault of Olaf, who regretted that it had 
happened. He therefore called a meeting of Iron- 
Beard’s relatives and expressed this regret. He 
knew that such an incident might well be consid¬ 
ered ground for a feud, and he wished if possible 
to appease these people by some act of good will. 
The relatives discussed the matter and finally 
agreed on a strange thing: If Olaf would marry 


278 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


Gudrun, the daughter of Iron-Beard and make 
her queen of Norway, the matter would be settled. 

A pretty settlement indeed! All well enough 
for the ambitious relatives who saw their family 
made royal, but what about Gudrun? 5 

Over the wild cliffs and down a lonely gorge 
hastened Gudrun, daughter of Iron-Beard, to con¬ 
sult with Eyvind, the magician. She found him in 
his secret retreat where, in the name of the de¬ 
posed gods, he practised his black arts. 

“My relatives have agreed that if King Olaf 
weds me, my father’s death will be atoned,” ex¬ 
claimed the maiden. “What shall I do?” 

It was a long consultation, that—between maid 
and magician—but toward evening Gudrun wend¬ 
ed her way homeward with something hidden in 
her bosom. She would agree to marry the great 
king, whom she considered her father’s murderer. 

Olaf was also perplexed at the decision of the 
relatives and talked it over with the bishop. He 
had already been twice married; 6 he did not love 
Gudrun, but he had given his word to stand by the 
settlement if possible. Yes, it seemed better after 
all to sacrifice his personal feelings for the good 
of his people. 

So the wedding of King Olaf and Gudrun took 
place. 

On the bridal night when King Olaf slept, 
Gudrun, daughter of Iron-Beard, seemed to see 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 279 


phantoms from another world. First came her 
father, pale and bloody. 

“Murderer!” muttered the shape pointing to her 
husband. 

Then it seemed as though Gudrun saw a great, 
golden ring—the ring from Odin’s temple door. 
And an old one-eyed man, the spirit of the ring, 
called “Thief!” as he pointed to the sleeping 
figure of the king. 

In the dead of night, the young king awoke. 
Gudrun was standing close by his side. 

What was that? A dagger’s glint cut the dark¬ 
ness. Gudrun had struck, but Olaf warded off the 
blow and tore the poisoned weapon from her hand, 
as the woman swooned by the couch. 7 

The following morning the daughter of Iron- 
Beard left the palace, Olaf having returned the 
dowry she had brought with her. Even her am¬ 
bitious relatives could not ask more, and the mar¬ 
riage was annulled. 

Eyvind, the magician, could not conceal his 
wrath when he learned that Gudrun had neither 
killed King Olaf nor found the ring. 

“The ring shall be found, it must be found,” he 
muttered. “With Odin’s help, I myself shall find 
it and confound this blasphemer of the gods.” 

Now there were still a few others that prac¬ 
tised the black arts in Odin’s name and they agreed 
to help Eyvind with his plan. It was the day be- 


280 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


fore Easter. Olaf had sailed over to a small island 
to spend the holy day with friends. Toward eve¬ 
ning, Eyvind, the magician, also embarked for the 
island, taking with him all the sorcerers, enchant¬ 
ers and witch-people from that part of Norway. 

When they came near the island’s shore they 
began their weird rites. Out of the water, slowly, 
silently, rose a heavy cloud like a curtain. When 
they landed, the magicians were so hidden by the 
mist that no one noticed them. Stealthily they 
moved toward the manor-house, invoking Odin, 
Tor and all the demons of land and water. 

The day dawned—Easter day. Like a cham¬ 
pion of Light and Right, it seemed as though the 
Christian God came on the sunbeams. The rays 
pierced the dark cloud and fell on the king and 
his men. The mist now settled around the magi¬ 
cians confusing them completely and they wan¬ 
dered hither and thither, helpless, while all others 
could see them distinctly. 

The wizards were easily captured, and brought 
to the manor-house, where Olaf pronounced their 
doom—a fate so terrible that all magicians and 
worshipers of Odin in the Far North, when they 
heard of it, would tremble. There was a reef 
near the island which rose barren at low tide but 
at high tide lay several feet under water. The 
witch-people were bound to this reef. As the tide 
came in, they sank into the water. Finally only 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 281 


their heads were free, then the waves came to their 
mouths, then to their noses—lapping, lapping, inch 
by inch. The water always makes a great noise 
here, echoing in the hollow caves of rock, but the 
shrieks of the magicians rose above the moaning 
of the tide. The place has been called the “Ma¬ 
gicians’ Reef” ever since. 

But the strangest attempt to find the ring was 
still to come. One evening an old man with one 
eye hidden under a strange hat sat among the re¬ 
tainers in the king’s hall. Olaf noticed the odd 
creature and asked him how he happened to be 
there. The old man replied that he was a traveler 
whom some of the servants had kindly invited in. 
Olaf asked him questions about his journeyings 
and he proved indeed to be widely traveled. He 
could even tell tales about the lands far to the east, 
from where the first Norsemen had come. 

“Where did you hear these interesting things?” 
asked Olaf. 

“Ah, I am very old,” sighed the guest, “and have 
traveled far.” 

The bishop who stood near was none too pleased 
with the tales of the mysterious stranger. They 
smacked somehow of paganism. 

“Is it not time for the king to sleep?” he sug¬ 
gested. 

“I must have one more story!” cried the king, 
enthusiastic about this new entertainment. 


282 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


And so the stranger continued with his tale9. 

Finally the bishop sent for the servant whose 
duty it was to help the king undress. The king 
withdrew to his sleeping chamber but insisted that 
the stranger should accompany him. Even after 
the king had retired, he allowed the little one-eyed 
man to sit at the foot of his couch and continue 
his stories. 

“I have also traveled far,” said Olaf finally. 
“But you, my friend, have seen more wonderful 
things than I.” 

“One thing you have seen that I have not,” an¬ 
swered the little fellow, cocking his one eye quizzi¬ 
cally, “is something that Your Majesty can per¬ 
haps show me.” 

“What can that be?” queried the king. 

“The ring from the temple door!” whispered the 
old man. 

“Is it not time for the king to sleep?” came the 
sharp voice of the bishop from without. 

Olaf started. It was indeed late and he sud¬ 
denly felt that he had talked long enough with the 
stranger. 

“I can not talk longer with you now,” said the 
king; “and must bid you good night.” 

The aged stranger slipped shadow-like from the 
room. The king slept. But later he woke in a 
strange anxiety, and called loudly after the de¬ 
parted guest. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 283 


He was nowhere to be found. 

The next morning the cook came to Olaf and 
said: 

“At an early hour a strange little man came here 
with two nice cattle ribs as a present for the 
king. Shall I prepare them for Your Majesty’s 
dinner?” 

“Never!” interposed the bishop positively. “It 
is some trick of that pagan dwarf.” 

And the king and bishop were agreed that it 
was no other than the Spirit of Odin’s Ring who 
came to seek the treasure and to poison the cham¬ 
pion of the new faith. 8 

Norway was now Christian; the believers in the 
old gods were silenced; but the eager king was 
not content. He wanted the new religion brought 
to the entire Far North, wherever the faith of 
Odin flourished. With this in view, he sent mis¬ 
sionaries to Iceland and Greenland. 

Leif was the name of Olaf’s messenger to Green¬ 
land. He had many exciting adventures. First 
he rescued a shipwrecked crew floating far out to 
sea; then instead of Greenland he found a new 
country to the south which he called “Vinland the 
Good.” 9 At last, however, he came to his destina¬ 
tion and after that, was called Leif the Lucky. 
Leif’s father, whose name was Erik the Red, said 
that Leif had evened up his luck by the bad luck 
he brought to Greenland—meaning the priest. 


284 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


Erik the Red would hear nothing about Olafs 
faith and insisted on worshiping an old polar bear. 

Another land to be won lay just over the moun¬ 
tains from Norway. This was Sweden. But 
Sweden had been a stronghold of Odin and his 
fellow-gods even before Norway—long before, 
when the first mighty temple at Upsala had been 
raised and Frey had ruled the land. 10 Now the 
most important personage in Sweden was Queen 
Sigrid the Haughty. 

“I shall make Sweden a Christian land,” vowed 
King Olaf to his bishop, “if it takes the ring from 
Odin’s temple door!” 

Olaf had, in fact, been keeping the ring for just 
such a purpose, and he now decided to send it to 
Sigrid, the haughtiest supporter of the old reli¬ 
gion, with an offer of marriage. 

SIGRID THE HAUGHTY 

When Sigrid was a little girl, a number of high¬ 
born people fled to Sweden from Norway because 
they feared the wicked Witch-Queen Gunhild. 
Among these was a prince of the line of Frey, 
named Harald Grenska. Sigrid’s father who was 
a great general, befriended the exiled prince and 
the two children, Sigrid and Harald, grew up as 
brother and sister. 

When Harald Grenska became eighteen, he re¬ 
turned to his estates in Norway. It was many 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 285 


years before he saw Sigrid again, but one day he 
returned to Sweden on a visit and sought out his 
former playmate. Since his departure, Sigrid had 
also had many adventures. She had been courted 
by the king of Sweden himself, had become his 
wife and later, his widow. Her son was now king 
and she herself a woman of wealth and power. 

“See!” cried Sigrid, laughing in her old viva¬ 
cious manner, “all this land is mine; quite as much 
I’ll venture to say, as you own in Norway.” This 
was quite true; Grenska’s estate was nothing in 
comparison. 

Sigrid seemed indeed glad to greet the friend 
of her girlhood who had been like a brother to 
her. The best in the house was none too good for 
him; he was pressed to make a lengthy visit, rare 
wines were opened in his honor and his rooms were 
hung with costly tapestries. 

Sigrid had been a tall, auburn-haired beauty 
with a royal bearing. She was still handsome. 
The lines on her clean-chiseled face were perhaps 
hard, but when her glance lightened with the 
sparkle of her intelligence, she was fascinating, ir¬ 
resistible. To be sure, she was capricious, and 
with years it seemed that her displays of temper 
were more frequent. But they only made her 
softer moods more charming, in Harald Grenska’s 
opinion. And so—he fell desperately in love with 
her. 


286 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


This was a pity, for Grenska was married, and 
to a model wife. But, be it said to his credit, he 
concealed his feelings from Sigrid and they parted, 
she the smiling, light-hearted hostess; he the de¬ 
pressed, heavy-hearted guest. But she had given 
him much to think about! 

Next year, Harald Grenska returned to Sweden 
with a proposal of marriage for Sigrid. 

“What do you mean?” asked Sigrid, this time 
cold and distant in her mood. “You have a good 
wife already.” 

“It means I am madly in love with you. You 
have bewitched me. I know my wife is a good 
woman, but now I can love no other but you and 
I am willing to divorce Aasta, if you will marry 
me.” 

“Be sure that the good fortune of you both lies 
in her hands,” replied Sigrid shortly, and she or¬ 
dered her cavalcade to move on. 

But Grenska would not interpret this answer as 
“no” and following her to urge his suit, they finally 
came to Sigrid’s mansion. Sigrid disappeared 
within and shortly afterward a servant came saying 
that he would show Grenska where he could spend 
the night, as it was now late. 

This time he was led to no ancient baronial hall 
fitted with luxurious tapestries but to a large 
wooden building that was more like a barn. His 
companions did not think this reception boded 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 287 


well and wanted their leader to proceed at once, 
but Grenska’s mind was set. Another nobleman 
was also quartered there, and, strange to say, they 
discovered that he also had come to seek the hand 
of the fascinating Sigrid. 

The lorn lovers pooled their woes, when more 
servants appeared with substantial dishes of food. 
The hungry travelers ate eagerly. Strong drinks 
were served and as soon as the beakers were emp¬ 
tied, they were filled again. As a lavish hostess 
Sigrid had not failed after all. 

Wearied by their journeys and heavy from the 
strong drink Grenska, the nobleman from Gar- 
darika and all their followers slept in their places. 
The wines had been drugged. A band of slaves 
had meanwhile stealthily approached. The place 
was surrounded by armed men from Sigrid’s 
guard. The slaves set torches to the wooden shack 
and in no time it was a mass of flame. Grenska, 
the nobleman from Gardarika and all their retinue 
perished in the fire. 

It was a Viking trick from the cruel, old, pagan 
times. 11 

“We shall teach little princes to court a great 
queen,” laughed Sigrid. 

And after that, she went by the name of Sigrid 
the Haughty. 

Olaf, King of Norway, was a younger cousin of 
Harald Grenska. He had heard of Sigrid’s terri- 


288 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


ble deed long before, and it had shocked and dis¬ 
gusted him. But that was many years before; now 
his one idea was to bring Sweden to the true faith. 
He knew the far-reaching influence of that terrible 
pagan queen. 

“If I can but master her,” thought he, “she will 
be the best apostle in the world. The very quali¬ 
ties that make her cruel in the old faith might 
make her a mighty champion for the new.” 

There was a stir in the mansion of Sigrid the 
Haughty when Olafs embassy arrived with an 
offer of marriage from Norway’s Christian king. 
This was indeed no little prince. The name of 
that brilliant, handsome young ruler was a house¬ 
hold word throughout the Far North. A thou¬ 
sand tales were told of his adventures, his daring, 
his chivalry, his conquests. 

The vain queen of the auburn hair and the red 
temper smiled in self-satisfaction when she viewed 
Olafs present—the ring from Odin’s temple door. 

The famous ring from the Trondhjem temple 
had come to Sweden! The queen-mother was at 
once besieged by a throng of visitors who wanted 
to see the treasure. Erik, the exiled Earl of Nor¬ 
way came, for it was Erik’s father, Haakon, who 
had first consecrated the ring. Fork-Beard, King 
of Denmark, came with his ally, Earl Sigvald, the 
crafty Jom Viking. They were at the time paying 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 289 


their respects at the Swedish court. And many 
others. 

Among the tradesmen that begged to see the ring 
came two smiths. As they were examining the 
gift, the queen’s eagle eye sought them out from 
the far end of the room. She swept across the 
floor and suddenly stood beside them. 

“What are you sneering at?” she asked abruptly. 

The poor smiths were much frightened. 

“Indeed we were not sneering,” they protested. 

“Yes, you were!” asserted the red-tempered 
queen. “If there is anything wrong with the ring, 
I want to know it.” 

“We only think, Your Majesty, that it does 
not weigh quite what it should,” murmured the 
smiths. 

“Either you are making a jest of me, or King 
Olaf is,” cried the angry queen. “We shall soon 
see which!” 

The ring was ordered broken open. 

What a discovery! 

It was not gold after all—it was copper inside! 

“So!” exclaimed Sigrid in her wrath. “He who 
cheats in one thing, may cheat in another. Great 
princes as well as small should take care when 
courting Sigrid the Haughty!” 

Olaf came east to the boundary between Nor¬ 
way and Sweden to meet Sigrid, after agreement. 
Cold and stately, she listened to his proposal. He 


290 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


begged her hand in marriage. But in this mar¬ 
riage, she must give up her faith and accept his. 

A sarcastic smile wreathed the lips of the vain 
queen. “Whatever agreement we reach,” she said, 
“you may be sure that if you believe what you 
like, I shall believe what I like!” 

The young king gazed intently at this older 
woman he had thought of marrying for the good 
of his cause. He felt in an instant that the idea 
was hopeless. It was not the queen of Sweden 
that stood there—it was his cousin’s murderer. It 
was not a woman—it was the champion of the old 
paganism in its cruelest form. 

“Ah!” he cried, losing complete control of him¬ 
self, “why should I marry you indeed? Well 
might I share my cousin’s fate. You are heathen 
as a dog!” 

With that, he struck her in the face with his 
glove. 12 

In all her fits of temper, Sigrid had never been 
so angry before. Burning alive in a house would 
be a mild fate for this scoundrel! 

Olaf had risen, his handsome face was flushed, 
his blue eyes kindling. The queen also rose; she 
was pale as a ghost and swayed in her motions like 
a haughty lily in the wind. 

“By Odin, that may cost you your life!” she said. 

And thus they parted. 

Olaf returned to his city by the Nid; Sigrid re- 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 291 


turned to her estates. And the Spirit of the Ring 
—the little one-eyed man—danced merrily over 
the high cliffs, snapped his fingers, laughing, and 
called to the other trolls. For Sigrid the Haughty 
still believed in Odin and the Aasa folk, and her 
hate for the Christian Olaf was greater than the 
hate of all his other enemies. 


x The Saga of King Olaf by Longfellow begins with this 
incident. Longfellow has evidently followed Snorra in build¬ 
ing this interesting collection of verses about the achievements 
of that great king. 

2 As told in the tale, Olaf in Search of a Kingdom . 

3 See the tale of False Gods and True. 

4 “The old pagan conceptions were not eradicated, however, 
through the hasty conversion. They gradually assumed Chris¬ 
tian forms and continued to live in the religious life as well 
as in the songs and stories of the people. Christ was substi¬ 
tuted for Odin as the divine ruler; King Olaf takes the place 
of Tor; Freya reappears as the Virgin Mary.”—Gjerset. 

5 “The heroic and self-assertive women of the Viking Age,” 
says Gjerset ( History of the Norwegian People) , “have a cer¬ 
tain romantic charm; still woman had not yet been accorded 
her proper privilege in society or in the home. Marriage was 
not based on mutual love and affection, but on wealth and 
social standing. It was a business affair, a contract concluded 
between the bridegroom and the bride’s father and relatives. 
The bride’s consent was unnecessary, it is true, but it was 
often a matter of form, rather than the result of natural in¬ 
clination. 

“The Norseman had a keen and well-developed mind, but 
his heart was as hard as the steel of his sword. He loved the 



292 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


battle and the stormy sea; he admired the strong, the brave, 
the cunning, the intellectual; for the old and feeble he had 
no interest, for the suffering, no sympathy; the weak he de¬ 
spised. He sang of valor and heroic deeds; not of love and 
beauty.” 

6 01af’s second wife, the Irish princess (see the story, Olaf 
in Search of a Kingdom ), must have died, as he did not bring 
her with him when he returned to Norway, and the saga makes 
no further mention of her. 

7 This scene is one of the best from Longfellow’s Saga of 
King Olaf : 

“On King Olaf’s bridal night 

Shines the moon with tender light 

And across the chamber streams 
Its tide of dreams. 

“At the fatal midnight hour 
When all evil things have power 

In the glimmer of the moon 
Stands Gudrun. 

“Close against her heaving breast, 

Something in her hand is pressed; 

Like an icicle, its sheen 
Is cold and keen. 

“Like the drifting snow she sweeps 
To the couch where Olaf sleeps 

Suddenly he wakes and stirs, 

His eyes meet hers. 

“ ‘What is that,’ King Olaf said, 

‘Gleams so bright above my head? 

Wherefore standest thou so white 
In pale moonlight?’ 

“ “Tis the bodkin that I wear 
When at night I bind my hair; 

It woke me falling on the floor— 

’Tis nothing more.’ 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 293 


“Ere the earliest peep of morn 
Blew King Olaf’s bugle horn 
And forever sundered, ride 
Bridegroom and bride.” 

s Here is a striking example of the changed view-point of the 
Norsemen as they gave up their pagan beliefs and accepted 
the faith of Christ. Odin, their wonder-prince of the old days, 
dwindles to a troll. They have finally come to deny his divin¬ 
ity, but he has always been such a reality for them that they 
can not deny his existence. Now he wanders between earth 
and Heaven, a kind of deposed deity. His having only one eye 
is the principal mark by which he can be known. Odin was 
said to have traded one of his eyes for the wisdom of Mimer. 

9 This was North America. Thus the first discovery of the 
new continent by Europeans was the result of King Olaf’s at¬ 
tempt to make the Far North Christian. It is strange to 
think that boys and girls of the Northland were actually read¬ 
ing about America before Columbus discovered it. Not only 
did they read about it in Snorra’s tales, but in a number of 
other sagas, the best one being The Saga of Erik the Red . All 
kinds of stories were current about the newly discovered land, 
some of them quite mythical as the tale of the uniped—a crea¬ 
ture with only one leg, but others, historical, giving true de¬ 
scriptions of the natives and the country. Some of the tales 
were quite thrilling; for example, how the Vikings became 
sick from eating whale meat, how the skraelings (Indians), 
tried to drive them away and how Freydis, the Viking woman, 
sharpened her sword on her breasts to frighten her pursuers. 

10 See the tale of The Wonder Prince from Aasgaard. 

1!l Compare with the tale, The Wolfs Heart. 

^Olaf’s meeting with Sigrid evidently made a great impres¬ 
sion on the Viking world, and the story was told and retold 
until it could hardly be recognized. In Denmark in the 


294 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


twelfth century one version described the meeting as taking 
place on shipboard. According to the writer, Saxo, Olaf bade 
Sign’d “come over to him on his ship so they could talk there. 
A gang-plank was placed so that she could come on board, but 
when she trod on it, it was pulled away and she fell headlong 
into the water.” After which Olaf’s sailors laughed at her, 
“It was real Norwegian impudence,” says Saxo, 


XVI ' «■ 

THE CRUISE OF THE LONG SERPENT 

Olaf , King of Norway Einar the Archer 

Burislaf, King of Vendland Eindrid, a chieftain of the 

T or berg, builder of the Long crew of the Long Serpent 
Serpent Tyra , Princess of Denmark 

Wolf the Red Astrid , Princess of Vendland 

Kolbiorn the Handsome 

Place: Trondhjem in Norway and Vendland. 

Time: Exactly 1000 A. D. 

^pHE finest Viking ship ever built was the Long 
Serpent. It was made in the form of a 
dragon with gilded head and tail that stood high 
above the water. It was over two hundred feet 
long, had fifty-two oars on each side and carried a 
crew of six hundred men. 

Torberg was the name of the clever carpenter 
appointed by King Olaf to be master-builder of 
the Long Serpent. Special men were selected to 
fell the great trees, others transported the trunks, 
skilled workmen fashioned the planks so that each 
fitted exactly in its place, others drove in the pegs 
and bound the ship together. The best artists in 
the Far North carved the designs with which the 
ship was covered. 

When the completed masterpiece floated out for 
the first time, mirroring its glories in the clear 

295 


296 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


waters, there were great celebrations. King Olaf 
had just made a speech in behalf of Torberg and 
the crowds along the water-front were still cheer¬ 
ing, when a woman making her way down to the 
edge of the fiord attracted general attention. She 
was evidently a person of high rank although no 
one could say who she was. Her dignity was such 
that the crowd yielded instinctively before her. A 
maid servant followed. Stopping before the king, 
she made a curtesy. 

“May I congratulate Your Highness,” said she, 
“on having built the most wonderful ship in the 
Far North. 1 It is indeed a worthy emblem of 
Norway’s sea power and a fitting work for Olaf 
Trygva’s son, the world’s most noble Christian 
king.” 

“Yours are fair words,” answered the king, ac¬ 
knowledging the lady’s greeting. “May I ask the 
name of the fair speaker?” 

“I am Tyra, Princess of Denmark,” she replied, 
“and a Christian. But I was doomed to live in a 
pagan land until I fled and now seek you, cham¬ 
pion of the true faith, for protection.” 

The face of the lady was care-worn. 

“If the princess will follow,” said Olaf, respect¬ 
fully showing the way, “I hope to listen to her tale, 
and if her story is as convincing as her manner, I 
shall be honored to be her knight.” 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 297 


So King Olaf conducted the sad stately princess 
to the royal residence and she told her story. 

“You know, of course, King Burislaf of Vend- 
land,” she began. 

“I lived many years in Burislafs realm,” an¬ 
swered Olaf. “I married Burislafs daughter!” 

“I had forgotten that!” exclaimed the princess. 
“But you were surely not a Christian then?” 

“No. And my gentle Geyra is long dead; so 
can have nothing to do with the present story.” 

The lady gave a sigh of relief. 

“You can understand, then,” she continued, “that 
Burislaf is hardly a fitting husband for a Chris¬ 
tian. He is a cruel old pagan who worships the 
horrible god Svanevit. You can imagine my dis¬ 
may when my brother, Fork-Beard, wanted me to 
marry him!” 

“An old man like Burislaf is hardly a proper 
match for such a young princess,” admitted Olaf. 
“What did you answer?” 

“No!—of course,” replied Tyra. “And my 
brother dispatched the word to Burislaf. But then 
—then my suitor sent the terrible Jom Viking, 
Earl Sigvald, to fetch me!” 

“I have heard much about Earl Sigvald—a 
crafty man. He is also a friend of your brother.” 

“That is not the worst of it,” Tyra went on. “I 
think he threatened my brother, for Fork-Beard 


298 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


came to me and said that if I did not go, our fam¬ 
ily might lose the Danish throne. So I finally con¬ 
sented.” 

Tyra began to weep. 

“I hope King Olaf will excuse my tears,” she 
sobbed, “but it was a dreadful thing for me to do. 
Yes, I consented. We came to Vendland. The 
heathen rites in Svanevit’s name were performed 
binding me, a Christian, to Burislaf. Oh, how I 
regretted it; how I wished for the smiling 
meadows of Denmark once again. Finally I could 
bear it no longer. I told them that as long as 
I had to be among them, I would neither eat nor 
drink. For seven days, I starved. On the eighth, 
escaped with my maid from his dreadful palace. 
Although I was very weak, no one hindered my 
going. But once free, I realized after all, I had 
no place to go. I dared not return to my brother’s 
land. Then in my sorrow, I thought of Norway, 
I have fled to you, my Lord. All I ask, is per¬ 
mission to remain here.” 

The lady beseechingly lifted her eyes to Nor¬ 
way’s ruler and through her tears, those eyes 
seemed like lakes of violet-blue. Olaf had always 
been a man of ideals and the story of Tyra’s brave 
fight against oppression appealed to him. He 
himself had had an unhappy experience in a mar¬ 
riage arranged for him by others. He understood 
her difficulties. Not only would he permit her 



STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 299 


to remain but, learning that she was without means, 
he insisted that she be his guest. 

Tyra could hardly realize that she had now 
[found a haven of rest. Her gratitude was un¬ 
bounded. But Olaf was also grateful to Tyra; 
he felt strengthened by the confidence she had 
shown in him, and he was proud to learn that, in 
far-away lands, his name was known as a symbol 
of chivalry. 

And a delightful guest Tyra was! She brought 
a charm, a softness with her as from some land 
where the cliffs did not rise so sharply from the 
sea, where the awfulness of nature was not ever¬ 
present, as in Norway. Beautiful she was; with 
a beauty of clean-chiseled features and noble bear¬ 
ing. Intelligent she was; with an intelligence that 
shone from her soulful eyes and found expression 
in every graceful gesture. 

As summer ripened into autumn, Olaf’s admira¬ 
tion for his fair guest ripened into a deeper feel¬ 
ing. When the heather covered the gray rocks 
with its purple glory, romance bloomed again in 
Olaffs soul. It thrilled him like an echo of that 
first romance, his love for Geyra in Vendland. 

As for Tyra, Olaf was the knight of her 
dreams. 

The wedding of Olaf with the princess from 
Denmark was a brilliant affair. The whole nation 
rejoiced that their noble ruler had found a fitting 


300 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


helpmate. Olaf was the happiest man in the king¬ 
dom. 

The autumns in Trondhjem are purple and 
golden; the winters are long and dark. The days 
grew shorter. Finally the sun was above the hori¬ 
zon only a few hours each day. Then it sank com¬ 
pletely from sight. This twilight period fell like 
a dark mantle on Tyra’s spirits; she became moody. 
Her light-hearted husband overwhelmed her with 
kindness, which only made her reproach herself 
the more that she had come to him without a 
dowry. 

Spring came—but it did not dispel the veil of 
sadness that hung over Olaf’s queen. She wept 
often. 

When the king inquired why her heart seemed 
so heavy, she answered: 

“Ah, dear Olaf, you have been so kind to me. 
It hurts my pride that I had to come to you with¬ 
out a dowry. A princess of Denmark is not wont 
to come thus to her bridegroom. Now I am in¬ 
deed a queen, but also—a pauper.” 

Olaf attempted to cheer her, but she continued 
to weep. 

“If you will really comfort me,” said she finally, 
“you might fetch me my dower, for I do own prop¬ 
erty in Vendland.” 

“What property do you mean?” asked her hus¬ 
band. 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 301 


“I received handsome presents from Burislaf,” 
sobbed Tyra. “Oh, if I but had them now!” 

“But you left King Burislaf,” replied Olaf, “and 
I think we may well forget his presents; have I 
not enough for us both?” 

To which Tyra answered, woman-like, with 
more tears: 

“If only I had my property from Vendland!” 

It was plain that the long winter had told on 
Tyra’s disposition. But Olaf’s nature was sun¬ 
shine itself and he continued his attempts to dispel 
her gloom, paying her little attentions and cater¬ 
ing to every caprice. Her mind, however, seemed 
to dwell more and more on the one theme. 

“You were such a good friend of Burislafs,” 
she suggested one day. “I should think he would 
give you my property, if you only asked for it.” 

“But remember,” objected Olaf, “you sought 
my protection against my former friend. How, 
then, can I ask that he send you the treasures you 
left of your own accord?” 

“I am sure Burislaf would do anything you 
asked!” persisted the unhappy queen. 

One morning Olaf saw the first spring flowers 
on the market. They were fresh-plucked, white 
and shining with morning dew, and Olaf brought 
them for his bride. When he went into the queen’s 
apartments, he found the room darkened, while 
his wife sat moping in one corner. 


302 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


“See what I have found for you!” cried Olaf 
cheerily. 

Tyra thrust the proffered blossoms away. 

“What shall I do with them?” asked she. “Can 
poor flowers replace my Vendland treasures? Ah, 
I begin to see what the matter is. You dare not go 
after my property. You are afraid of Burislaf; 
you are afraid of my brother—ha-ha-ha-ha—” and 
she laughed hysterically. 

The rejected blossoms seemed to wilt at the in¬ 
sult and fell from Olafs hand. 

“Do you really mean that, Tyra?” he asked in 
a voice that sounded strange and far-away. 

She gave no reply and he left the room. 

There was excitement throughout the city. Ban¬ 
ners were waving and crowds of people were as¬ 
sembling along the Nid where the wonderful ship, 
the Long Serpent 7 \zy. For Olaf had sent out word 
that he was going on a cruise, a cruise to Vendland 
to claim the dower of Queen Tyra. 

North and south, into the mountain fastnesses, to 
the gray depths of the most remote fiords, Olaf 
sent his messengers to assemble his bravest men for 
the Vendland quest. Not only the Long Serpent 
but the whole fleet of boats was being prepared for 
the journey. A little way out in the fiord lay the 
Little Serpent, another fine ship with golden head 
and knotted dragon tail. Near by was The Crane 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 303 


and farther along was a striking-looking boat with 
no prow, which had a striped sail unfurled from 
the mast. And there were many others. Such a 
gathering of ships the people of Trondhjem had 
never seen and they swarmed out on the hills to 
view the array. 

“See the Little Serpent,” called Eindrid the 
warrior to his son Einar. “It is not so big as the 
Long Serpent but it is finely fashioned. One could 
tell that a magician had built it. With its sail 
spread it is almost like a real dragon with wings.” 

“The ship without a figurehead—what is that?” 
asked the lad. 

“It belongs to Erling, the chieftain from Sola,” 
answered the father. “She shall follow our king 
as shall the bravest and best sons of Norway.” 

“And you are going too, father!” exclaimed the 
young man. “If you could only take me with 
you!” 

“No, Einar,” smiled the elder, “some of us must 
remain at home. The king is taking only the sea¬ 
soned warriors; he must have need of us. You 
are a good marksman, to be sure, but you are only 
eighteen.” 

The lad looked wistfully across the water at the 
gallant pageant. Those sea monsters would soon 
be plowing through foreign oceans, carrying his 
father and the others out to the great world of ad¬ 
venture. He longed to go with them. 


304 STORIES OE THE VIKINGS 


“Your ship, too, looks brave, 1 ” cried the boy, 
pointing toward it. “Don’t you think you might 
find room for me?” 

“Only the seasoned warriors will be chosen,” 
answered Eindrid, smiling and shaking his head. 

It was a picked crew, selected to man the fleet 
that was to sail out in quest of the treasures of 
Tyra. Strong, athletic, well-trained warriors, all; 
but the crew chosen for the Long Serpent was 
superior, even to the rest. Every member was a 
sturdy, tried Viking in his prime, no one under 
twenty years of age and no one over sixty. (That 
a man could be considered in his prime at sixty— 
what a tribute to Viking training!) The daring, 
shaggy-haired fighter, Wolf the Red, was chosen 
to be standard-bearer on the royal ship. Kolbiorn 
was the name of one of the handsomest; he stood 
like a god from Aasgaard, his coat of mail fault¬ 
less and shining, a scarlet mantle streaming from 
his shoulders. 2 

Olaf had personally picked out every man 
who should sail on the Long Serpent, and prac¬ 
tically all of the six hundred places were now 
filled. 

“There is a messenger here from your chieftain, 
Eindrid,” announced a servant to the king as he 
went about the palace grounds superintending 
preparations. 

“Let him come here,” answered the busy mon- 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 305 


arch, and in a moment a tall, light-haired young 
man stood before him. 

“I come from my father, Your Highness,” ex¬ 
plained Einar respectfully, “but not in his behalf. 
Although my father commands one of the ships 
that is to accompany the king, he will not take me 
in his crew. I’m sure that I am strong and brave 
enough and I am not a bad marksman, as I can 
prove. Forgive my boldness, but could not Your 
Majesty recommend me to my father?” 

The king gazed at the lad for a moment. 

“You are very young,” he said. 

“Eighteen, my Lord,” answered Einar. 

“My men should be at least twenty years of age,” 
answered Olaf. “But,” he continued, seeing the 
disappointment on the earnest young face, “I don’t 
mind seeing how well you can shoot. Norway 
will always need clever marksmen. Here is a 
bow.” 

The bow was a heavy one but yielded easily as 
the youth pulled on it. A mark was chosen. The 
arrow sped. Olaf noticed the clear eye that took 
aim, the sure firm touch that directed the shaft and 
the sinewy arm that furnished the power. The 
arrow found home as though it had been placed 
there by hand. Here was an archer that gave 
promise. 

“Try again,” said Olaf. 

Einar took another arrow and a more difficult 


306 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


mark was chosen. Again the bow was drawn, the 
clear eye took aim. The arrow flew. It was as 
good a shot as the first. 

“Well done!” cried the king, who was a great 
admirer of good sportsmanship. Then he asked 
Einar a number of questions and found the young 
athlete as alert in mind as in body. 

“I am sorry,” said Olaf, finally, “that my chief¬ 
tain Eindrid can not find a place for his son. I 
really think you measure up to his standard, 
but I do not feel that I can ask him to change his 
plans.” 

This was a blow to Einar for he felt that he 
had made a good showing and hoped for the king’s 
favor. His hands fell limply to his side; his lip 
trembled 

“The quest then, is not for me!” he said slowly. 

“Not on your father’s ship,” answered King 
Olaf, “but would you like to go on mine?” 

“Will you take me?” cried the lad, at once aglow 
with excitement. 

“There is one place left—for the best marksman 
in Norway; Einar may have it if he will.” 

It was wonderful news Einar had for his father 
when he came home that evening. He was to go 
on the quest as one of the crew of the Long Ser¬ 
pent . Old Eindrid listened coolly to the lad’s ex¬ 
cited account of the day’s adventure, but within, 
his heart swelled with a fatherly pride. 



“Well done!” cried the king, who was a great admirer of good 

sportsmanship. 


















































STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 307 


“He is much too young; a stripling with no ex¬ 
perience !” was the comment of many an old war¬ 
rior, when the news of Einar’s success became 
generally known. But many a fair maid of 
Trondhjem turned to look when Einar, trim and 
triumphant, passed their way; it was plain that 
in their eyes, at least, he was worthy of the distinc¬ 
tion. 

A midnight sun resting on the horizon turned 
the edges of the banked-up clouds to gold and 
crimson. It seemed as if Aasgaard, the mystical 
abode of the gods, floated there and the aspect of 
that magical city changed for every moment. The 
fiord glittered as though Freya had strewn it with 
her jewels and long reaches of rock blushed pur¬ 
ple in the clear ethereality of a Norwegian sum¬ 
mer night. Nature had taken on her most splen¬ 
did attire to match the splendor of the marvelous 
fleet that was sailing away. 

Out through the river and the narrow fiord they 
sailed, into the broader sea. First the majestic 
Long Serpent and after a swarm of gay and golden 
boats, lifting their prows proudly over the foam. 
And proud they well might be, for they held the 
flower of Norway’s manhood under the leadership 
of the bravest and noblest of kings—Olaf, Trygva’s 
son. 

Watch them, Tyra. Follow them as they make 
their way out—out. Now they are mere specks,— 


308 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


but that spot of gold is the Long Serpent; there 
sails Olaf your husband who is hazarding all this 
glory for love of you! Are you not proud of him? 

Mount, now, to your tower window. You can 
still see them, far, far away where one ray of pale 
sunlight touches the water. Is there a shade of 
regret in those eyes of violet-blue? Do you still 
long for your Vendland treasures? 

Light hearts throbbed in stalwart breasts as the 
stately fleet sped over the foam toward Vendland. 
Like a pageant, the ships thread their way through 
the islands along the coast, they round the south¬ 
ern-most point; they skirt the smiling lands of 
Denmark and now they mirror their splendors in 
the Baltic Sea. 

But no one was happier than Einar the archer, 
youngest member of the king’s own crew. His 
golden opportunity had come. He saw daily the 
sovereign whose praise he had so often heard; he 
sat with him at table and listened when the king 
would chat and jest; he saw the tricks of skill with 
which Olaf would entertain the company. 

Olaf was in the best of spirits. It had been many 
a day since he had been on such an adventure and 
his Viking blood stirred with the old-time joy. 

“See,” cried Einar to a companion one day, 
“what is the king going to do now?” 

Olaf had leaped over the side of the ship and 
was walking along on the oars! 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 309 


“Come, Einar,” called the king. “Let me have 
your sword.” 

Einar handed over his short sword, and Olaf, 
having borrowed two others, began to juggle with 
all three. As he stepped lightly and dexterously 
from one oar to the next, he kept all three swords 
flying through the air. 

“So!” he cried at last, catching all three and 
returning one to Einar. “You shoot well, my lad, 
but can you do my little trick?” 

Einar agreed that he could not. 

Later, Einar saw that the king could throw two 
spears at the same time and that he could strike 
as well with his left hand as with his right. He 
had never seen any one man that could excel in 
so many ways. And yet Olaf was always as modest 
as he was kind. No one could be gentler, none 
gayer than he. All the men on the Long Serpent 
admired their valiant leader but none more than 
Einar. He felt that he was there among that 
picked crew, only because he had been chosen by 
the bravest, kindest and finest man in the world. 

“If only I may have a chance to show my grati¬ 
tude some day,” thought the young marksman. 
“If King Olaf ever stands in need, he will find 
Einar at his side.” And he twanged his bow¬ 
string so that the great bow quivered again. 

They came to Vendland. Their quest had of 
course been heralded in advance, but Olaf had not 


310 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


expected the friendliness shown by the crowd as¬ 
sembled to greet them. He was pleased indeed, 
and doubly pleased when from the crowd there 
came one whose face and form were familiar from 
the Long Ago. It was Astrid, the gray-eyed sister 
of Geyra, the wife of his youth. The Princess 
Astrid was older and paler now, but the frank 
smile and hearty pressure of the hand were the 
same as of yore. 

“We have heard of your quest,” said Astrid, 
“and I shall do all in my power to help you.” 

“But, Astrid,” answered Olaf, “do you really un¬ 
derstand my mission? It is no easy thing I seek— 
your father’s gifts to the Princess Tyra, who left 
him to be my wife.” 

“Whatever Olaf asks must have consideration,” 
replied the princess. “We have not forgotten you, 
dear friend, nor the love you bore Geyra nor the 
help you gave my father at the Danevirke. Vend- 
land still remembers Olaf, although he is now a 
Christian king and wedded to Tyra.” 

“Your words are kinder than I deserve,” whis¬ 
pered the Norseman humbly. “But they bring 
me joy and solve a great difficulty.” 

Astrid had told the truth. Gruff King Burislaf 
himself welcomed his former son-in-law with only 
a little less cordiality than his daughter had done, 
and the fierce worshiper of Svanevit accompanied 
the Christian king to shed an honest tear at Geyra’s 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 311 


grave. As for the gifts to Tyra, no one had touched 
them and Olaf was welcome to them all. The old 
pagan did not even seem envious that Olaf had 
been the more favored suitor! 

All summer King Olaf and his men enjoyed the 
hospitality of Burislaf. There were feasts and 
games and friendly tests of skill between the Vends 
and the Vikings. Wolf the Red and the handsome 
Kolbiorn became as well-known in Vendland as 
on the market-place at Trondhjem and not the least 
feted was Einar the youthful marksman. But in 
distinction, appearance and popularity King Olaf 
surpassed them all. He found many old friends 
and made new ones. 

The cruise of the Long Serpent had been a suc¬ 
cess. As summer waned the gay-hearted men load¬ 
ed Tyra’s treasures on board and prepared to sail 
back to Norway. 3 


x Two Viking ships are still in existence which give one an 
idea as to what the Long Serpent was like, although they are 
pnly about one-third the size of Olaf’s ship. They are known 
as the Gokstad and Oseberg ships from the names of the places 
where they were found. Although they are from an earlier 
period than Olaf’s they are surprisingly well-preserved, hav¬ 
ing been buried in the graves of their owners. They were 
filled with interesting articles which can now be seen in the 
museum at Christiania, and which show a surprising culture 
for those so-called Dark Ages. The Oseberg ship undoubtedly 
belonged to a Princess Aasa ( Ose-berg evidently means “Aasa’s 



312 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


grave”) from whom King Olaf was directly descended as she 
was the grandmother of King Harald of the Fair Hair. A 
beautiful carved sledge belonging to the lady was among the 
articles found in the buried ship and can still be seen in the 
museum. Then there is a handsome wooden car and many 
articles for domestic use besides parts of the ship itself—the 
oars, the anchor, bits of the rope that tied the sails, buckets to 
bail out water and as a final hint of former glory, glistening bits 
of peacock plumes taken from the dust in the hold—all tangible 
remnants of some interesting personality that speaks to us 
through the silences of a thousand years. 

A model of the Gokstad ship was actually sailed across the 
Atlantic by a Norwegian crew in 1893, to the World’s Fair at 
Chicago, where it can still be seen. 

2 A similar Viking warrior is described by Anna Comnena, 
the daughter of Emperor Alexius (in Alexiadis libri XIX) as 
follows: “He was so tall that he carried his head above the 
largest men. He had ruddy cheeks, blond hair, broad shoul¬ 
ders and clear blue eyes, which seemed to flash fire. He was 
slender where he should be slender, and broad where he should 
be broad—in short he was from top to toe as if moulded and 
turned, a perfectly beautiful man, as I have heard many de¬ 
clare.” 

3 The cruise of the Long Serpent is perhaps the most spec¬ 
tacular incident of the Viking Age. “What the real purpose 
of the expedition may have been is not apparent,” says 
Gjerset in his History of the Norwegian People, “though it 
seems reasonable to suppose that it was something more weighty 
than the collection of the queen’s inheritance. The Historia 
Norwegiae states that Olaf had forty missionaries with him 
on the Long Serpent . This gives it to some degree, the appear¬ 
ance of a crusade undertaken, possibly, for the purpose of 
Christianizing the Vends.” 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 313 


The same historian (Gjerset) speaking of King Olaf, says: 

“Olaf Trygvason was the most chivalric and heroic of all 
the early kings of Norway. Saga and tradition extol him as 
a leader of men, a beau ideal of a hero. The Olaf Trygvason s 
Saga says, 'King Olaf was in all respects the most capable man 
in Norway of whom there is any record.’ He possessed the 
indomitable energy of a crusading warrior, he was the bril¬ 
liant man of action, who dazzled his followers with ever-new 
exploits. His charming and inspiring personality won the 
hearts and fascinated the minds of his countrymen and he be¬ 
came popular as no other king in Norway.” 


XVII 

SIGRID’S REVENGE 1 


Olaf, King of Norway 
Sven Fork-Beard , King of 
Denmark 

The King of Sweden 
Erik, the outlawed Earl of 
Trondhjem 

Einar, the Archer 
Wolf, the Red 
Kolbiorn, the Handsome 
Piace : 


Sigvald, Earl of the Jom 
Vikings 

Sigrid , Queen of Denmark 
and Queen-Mother of 
Sweden 

Astrid, Princess of Vendland 
Tyra , Queen of Norway 

Of the crew of 

the Long-Serpent 


Denmark and Vendland, especially the island of Svold. 


Time: 1000 A. D. 

“Still on her scornful face, 

Blushing with deep disgrace, 

Bore she the crimson trace 
Of Olaf’s gauntlet; 

Like a malignant star, 

Blazing in heaven afar, 

Red shone the angry scar 
Under her frontlet. ,, 

From Longfellow's Saga of King Olaf . 

you see this scar?” cried Sigrid the 
-^Haughty, as she pointed to the ugly mark 
on her cheek. “No, don’t turn away,” she added 
as her husband, King Fork-Beard, rose to go. 
“You are weary of hearing about it, but every day 
you shall hear until you take revenge on King 
Olaf.” 


314 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 315 


The king shrugged his shoulders. 

“Do you think I made you Queen of Denmark,” 
he asked, “just to hear this tale over and again? 
I am not fond of King Olaf myself— But what 
can be done?” 

“Done?” shrieked the elderly woman—her scar 
throbbed red with her anger. “King Olaf sails into 
your clutches with the whole of his fleet and you 
ask what shall be done! This Christian wretch 
struck me with his glove. He said I was heathen 
as a dog. Then he married your sister Tyra 
against your will. Now he flaunts his triumph 
by cruising through your waters. Ah, if I were 
a man, not one of Olafis ships would ever find 
its way back to Norway!” 

“Indeed, Sigrid,” expostulated the king, “I 
should be quite as glad as you to see the overbear¬ 
ing fellow humbled. In our union, Denmark and 
Sweden find themselves united and it ought to be 
possible to bend Norway to our will. But Olaf is 
stronger than either of us, perhaps than both. 
What do you advise?” 

“Have I married a coward?” asked Sigrid the 
Haughty with curling lip. “My son is king of 
Sweden; he stands ready at my call with his fleet. 
Erik, the outlawed earl, is at our court and would 
gladly help us against the king who drove him 
into exile. You can be sure of your Danish fleet. 
Fie! I thought I had married a man!” 


316 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


The taunt found home. 

“I will follow any plan you approve,” answered 
Fork-Beard meekly. 

Sigrid’s eyes glowed, brighter even than her 
scar. 

“Now,” she muttered, “I have them all,—all al¬ 
lied against him. Olaf is but a little prince in the 
eyes of one who is twice a queen, and little princes 
may fear the revenge of Sigrid the Haughty! 

“Summon my son,” she called imperiously. 
“And Earl Erik, the outlaw, and also the crafty 
Sigvald, Earl of the Jom Vikings. We shall have 
need for all our friends to humble this upstart. 
Ah,” she panted in a terrible ecstasy of bitterness, 
“Olaf shall see how much his Christiandom avails 
against the might of Sigrid and her heathen gods. 
He shall kneel in this room, and I shall plant my 
foot on his neck!” 

King Olaf, quite innocent of Sigrid’s plans con¬ 
cerning his future, had spent a pleasant summer 
in Vendland but was preparing to return home to 
Norway. His fleet, the most wonderful Viking 
pageant ever seen, had hoisted its sails. Each oar 
was manned by a picked sailor. These were the 
flower of Norway’s chivalry; they had come on 
an adventurous quest with their beloved king. But 
now the quest was over, the sought-for dower of 
Queen Tyra had been found. They breathed in 
deep breaths of the salty air and their thoughts 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 317 


longed back to their own land whose deep fiords 
and pine-clad mountains called them. 

Then came Sigvald, the crafty Earl of the Jom 
Vikings, and said to Norway’s king. 

“You are indeed a noble man, King Olaf; all 
who meet you honor you. But there is one who 
has been my friend longer than you who is angry 
with you. I mean, King Fork-Beard of Denmark. 
He can not forgive you that you wed his sister 
Tyra and he is waiting by the island of Svold to 
destroy your fleet. It is a shame that two such 
noble men should fight; I would feel that I had 
done both a service if I could prevent it. Now I 
know the channel and if you will trust me, I shall 
pilot you beyond the island to safety.” 

Astrid, the gray-eyed wife of Sigvald, also came 
to King Olaf. 

“Dear Olaf,” she said, “dear brother—for you 
have been as near and dear as a brother to me— 
listen, I pray,to my husband. I confess with shame 
that he was sent here to spy on you, but I have 
persuaded him to help rather than betray you. 
Listen! Your worst enemy is not Fork-Beard but 
his new queen, Sigrid the Haughty. She hates you 
with the hate of death and has combined a force 
far greater than yours, to crush you.” 

Olaf was not a coward, but he had come to Vend- 
land on a mission for his queen, and did not wish 
to sail deliberately into the trap of his enemies. 


318 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


So he thanked the kind Astrid and agreed to fol¬ 
low Earl Sigvald who promised the assistance of 
his own fleet in case there should be trouble. Their 
many friends bade the stalwart men adieu. The 
ships spread eager wings for their flight over the 
shining Baltic. 

“Follow my lead!” warned Earl Sigvald. “I 
know the channel where the largest ships must 
sail.” 

And Olaf, trusting the husband of Astrid, his 
lifelong friend, followed with his largest ships— 
eleven in all—while he commanded his chieftain 
Erling to pilot the main part of his fleet, about 
fifty smaller vessels, directly out to sea. 

It was a beautiful day in the late summer. A 
crisp breeze stung the waters until every wavelet 
trembled with a crest of foam, and the wind 
brought joy and thoughts of home to the sailor 
lads. Like a school of graceful serpents, Olafis 
stately ships floated over the steely-blue sound, 
while the smaller craft faded into the hazy dis¬ 
tances of the open sea. How caressingly the foamy 
billows leaped around the golden prows I How 
benignly the cold clear sunshine—a sunshine 
known only in those northern lands—shone on the 
brave array and mirrored its splendors in the trem¬ 
bling deep. Who could have dreamed the fate 
that awaited them? 

But Sigrid the Haughty had dreamed it. And 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 319 


all those whom she had united to wreak her re¬ 
venge on Olaf awaited his coming at the Island 
of Svold. Hidden behind bare cliffs in the lea 
of the island lay the assembled fleets of Denmark 
and Sweden, and even better-manned than these, 
the picked fleet of the outlaw Earl Erik and his 
seasoned Viking crew. 

In a sheltered point of the island, the three lead¬ 
ers stood and watched for Olaf’s coming. 

“What a beautiful vessel!” exclaimed both kings 
at once, as a noble craft floated into view. “It 
must be the Long Serpent” 

“This is not the Long Serpent” replied Earl 
Erik. 

Erik was right; it was the chieftain Eindrid’s 
ship. 

“See!” cried the king of Sweden, as another ma¬ 
jestic vessel appeared, “Olaf is afraid some enemy 
might recognize him and has taken the serpent’s 
head from his prow.” 

“That is not the Long Serpent” repeated Erik. 
“I know that striped sail; it belongs to the chief¬ 
tain Erling’s boat. Let them sail by. Olaf will 
miss them when the crisis comes.” 

And these two craft which belonged among 
Olaf’s smaller ships sailed proudly out to the open 
sea. 

Next came eleven sturdy-built galleys sailing 
bravely on. These were recognized at once; they 


320 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


belonged to Sigvald, the crafty earl of the Jom 
Vikings. 

As they looked, these ships altered their course 
and sailed in toward the island. 

Then three imposing sea-monsters floated on, 
one of them unusually large. 

“The Long Serpent at last!” declared the king 
of Sweden. “Let us board our ships!” 

But the canny Earl Erik answered: “They have 
many fine vessels. Let us wait.” 

The warriors now began to be uneasy. 

“Earl Erik is afraid,” they whispered, “and will 
not avenge his father’s death. It is a shame. What 
will the world say when it knows that we lay 
quietly here and allowed Olaf to sail by unchal¬ 
lenged?” 

But while they were talking, four more giants of 
the deep floated into view and one of them was a 
dragon of monstrous proportions. Up sprang 
King Fork-Beard. 

“High shall the Long Serpent bear me to-night, 
for I shall command it!” he cried. 

The assemblage gazed in admiration as the 
graceful ship glided over the waves. 

“What a beauty!” exclaimed one. 

“It was indeed a noble work to build such a ves¬ 
sel,” said another. 

“Very well,” thought Erik, the banished earl. 
“Even if Olaf had no larger ships than this one, 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 321 


King Fork-Beard with his fleet alone, would never 
capture it.” 

Down to their ships hurried the eager warriors 
for the time to attack had come. Canvass cover¬ 
ings were removed and a sea of ships bristled in 
war trim. Even a school of golden serpents might 
well beware of such as these. 

But the kings still stood transfixed to the spot, 
for their eyes, as it were, had looked straight into 
Aasgaard, the city of the gods. Was it, indeed, a 
vision? Three more ships had come into sight 
and a fourth so wonderfully beautiful that it 
seemed the gods themselves must have built it. 
But it was not Odin’s magic ship; it was the Long 
Serpent . The two wonder-boats that went before 
had been the Little Serpent and the Crane. 

The illusion lasted only a moment. The words 
of Sigrid the Haughty rang in their ears. 

“Take care lest Olaf flaunt his triumph over 
you!” 

“Down with King Olaf of Norway,” they cried, 
and hurried to their ships. 

The agreement was that if the battle was won, 
Norway should be divided among the two kings 
and Earl Erik; the Long Serpent should become 
the property of whichever leader first mounted it, 
and the god-like Olaf should be humbled in the 
presence of Sigrid the Haughty. 

As Olaf’s fleet rounded the island it was noticed 


322 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


that the ships of their guide, the wily Sigvald, 
furled their sails and rowed in toward the shore. 
The commander of the Crane followed Sigvald’s 
example, calling out to know what was the matter. 

“I think that trouble is at hand!” cried Earl 
Sigvald. 

Then came the Little Serpent with three other 
ships, and receiving the same message, they also 
furled their sails. And King Olaf in the Long 
Serpent had no sooner joined them—than the 
whole of the enemy fleet sailed out against them! 

A wave of uncertainty came over Olaf s sailor 
lads; a company that otherwise had never known 
fear. 

“Full speed ahead !” cried some. 

But Olaf stood up in the stern of the Long Ser¬ 
pent and called: 

“Hold, my men, let the sails fall. Our lives are 
in the hands of God!” 

Then he blew the call to battle and the ever- 
obedient giant serpents glided into line, an impos¬ 
ing sight indeed with the royal ship in the center 
flanked by the Little Serpent and the Crane. 

“Shoot the Long Serpent farther forward!” 
shouts Olaf. 

They are binding the bows together and the 
royal ship being so much longer than the others 
lies with its stern farther back. 

“It will be hard to defend the foremast,” 


an- 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 323 


swered Wolf the Red, “if we shoot the bow so far 
in front.” 

“I did not know,” came the king’s answer, “that 
my standard-bearer was both red and afraid!” 2 

“See that you are no more afraid at your post 
than I at mine!” replied the Red Wolf sharply. 

Olaf in great anger set an arrow on his bow¬ 
string and took aim at his standard-bearer. 

“Keep that shot for one who better deserves it,” 
shouted Wolf. “Whatever I do is for your sake, 
oh, King.” 

So Olaf spared his arrow. 

King Olaf stood on the high deck where he 
could oversee the fighting. An inspiring sight he 
was indeed, his golden shield on his arm, a short 
scarlet cloak thrown over his coat-of-mail and his 
helmet glistening in the cold sunshine. He was 
like some fair god returned to redeem his people. 

The enemy fleet had also formed a line—and a 
terrible line it was, dwarfing the array of Olaf’s 
eleven haughty serpents. It seemed to stretch in¬ 
terminably to either side, swarming with myriads 
of men and flaunting the banners of many a clan 
and kingdom. 

“Whose flag is that, just across from us?” asks 
Olaf. 

“King Fork-Beard’s,” answered his archer, the 
young Einar. 

“He shall never defeat us with all his Danish 


324 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


horde,” cries the proud king of Norway. “But 
whose men are those, where the banners flutter on 
the right?” 

“The King of Sweden leads that army,” replies 
Einar. 

“Those heathen should have stayed at home,” 
laughs Olaf. “They would find more pleasure in 
Sigrid’s bloody sacrifices than in fighting a Chris¬ 
tian king. But those large ships beyond the 
Danes?” 

“They belong to Erik, your exiled earl.” 8 

“Ah,” answers the fair-haired king, “he, at least, 
has reason to challenge us. We must expect sharp 
fighting in that quarter; they are also from Nor¬ 
way.” 

Now the enemy kings divide their forces into 
three fleets which bear simultaneously down on 
Olafs eleven dragons. The Danish king brings 
directly up before the wonder ship, the Swedish 
king opens attack on a vessel farthest to the right, 
and Earl Erik on the one farthest to the left. The 
battle breaks like a thunderstorm! 

And where, pray, is Earl Sigvald, the Jom Vik¬ 
ing who promised his aid in case of danger? His 
fleet still lies with furled sails close by the island. 
Even with his assistance, Olafs chances would be 
slender, so the wily earl prefers to await develop¬ 
ments. Not so his wife Astrid. She rides there in 
her own ship, manned by Vendland sailors eager 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 325 


to sail at once to the scene of combat. But her 
men shake their heads when she questions them 
and advise her to wait with the rest. 

Long afterward sang the skalds: 

“I can well understand that Earl Sigvald, 

The chief who withdrew from the combat 

Was sorely missed by King Olaf. 

(Many men fled from that battle!) 

So must the hero from Norway 
Fight against two kings together; 

(Noble my theme is to sing—) 

And Erik the Earl was against him!” 4 

Meanwhile the strife around the royal ship went 
badly for Olaf’s opponents. Down from the high 
prows of the Long Serpent and her sister ships, the 
Norwegians cast grappling hooks and anchors to 
the decks of the Danish vessels and then bore down 
on the crews with their weapons. Boat after boat 
came into the claws of the three big dragons and 
were cleared of their men. King Fork-Beard’s 
chances of riding high on the Long Serpent were 
dwindling rapidly! Before he realized what had 
happened, he himself was driven from his ship and 
Olaf’s followers were in command of it. Sigrid’s 
husband, however, managed to board another craft 
outside the line of action and from there watched 
the fray. 

Then came Sigrid’s son, the Swedish king. He 


326 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


pressed forward in his stepfather’s stead, trying to 
wrest the wonder-ship from its hated owner. But 
his losses at once became so heavy that he was 
forced to withdraw, exhausted, after a short and 
fierce attack. 

The only place where it has been going well for 
Olaf’s enemies is where they are led by Erik the 
Earl. He has been attacking with full force not 
the center, but the golden monster lying farthest to 
the left. His own boat, the Beard, plunges against 
the side of this out-post on Olaf’s line, while other 
vessels attack her from the front. The Beard is 
not built like the other ships; instead of a golden 
prow, it has a grim heavy front rising straight 
from the water’s edge and termed the “Beard” 
while down below the surface, this front becomes 
a thick iron plate. The Beard swings against its 
opponent like a terrible battering-ram. While the 
men on Olaf’s golden monster are occupied with 
defending the front, the people from the Beard 
swarm up her side. The ship is taken. It is cut 
from the line. That leaves the next ship more 
open to attack, and again Earl Erik begins with! 
his deadly battering-ram. Valiantly done, Earl 
Erik! But you are losing your men. The best are 
falling thick on the deck about you. 

Now the Danes and the Swedes see where the 
real progress is being made. Many have retreated 
to safety, beyond the line of battle, but Erik’s 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 327 


dogged attack renews their courage. Suddenly the 
earl notices that his thinning ranks are no longer 
so thin. The two enemy kings return to the fray 
and urge their followers from the ships captured 
by Olaf, to rally around the fierce Erik. From 
all sides they are gradually closing in on Olafs 
center—on the Long Serpent. 

The battle rages like a devouring fire, a fire 
that is withering the flower of Norway in its dev¬ 
astating blast. The fury of the war-flames is 
fiercest around the Little Serpent. It is taken. 
. . . Now the Crane is the center of the con¬ 
flagration . . . and its golden pride is hum¬ 

bled as Erik cuts it from the bonds that hold it to 
Olafs royal ship . . . and now only that one 

is left, the mighty Long Serpent, but crunching 
against its side while missiles rain on every hand, 
is the terrible iron Beard. 

Erik, eager as the hunter about to capture his 
prey, stands at the foremast urging his men. He 
has caused a rampart of shields to be arrayed 
against the side of the Long Serpent and over and 
around them there is a hand-to-hand fight between 
the bravest and best warriors that Norway ever 
produced. They strike with javelins; they throw 
whatever can be used as a weapon. Spears! Bat¬ 
tle-axes! A forest of swarthy bows from which 
swarms of arrows come singing like wind through 
the trees. 


328 STORIES OF THE VlklNGS 

Like vultures about a dying lion, the Danish 
and Swedish boats cluster around the Long Ser¬ 
pentt. Olaf’s men are now so angry that they try to 
board these boats to kill such of their opponents as 
have avoided a hand-to-hand encounter. In their 
desperation they forget they are not fighting on a 
level rampart and as the ships heave and sway, 
many go over the sides and sink, full-weaponed, to 
the bottom. Poor lads! Their efforts are mighty 
—the results fruitless. 

“Down from that ship they sank, 

Down from the thick of the battle; 

Wounded they were, but unyielding, 

They fought to the very end. 

Even if Olaf their hero, 

Had saved the Long Serpent for Norway, 

Such valiant fellows as these 
Would have sadly been missed by their leader.” 

So sang the bard afterward. 

Einar, the archer, stands at his post and shoots 
with all his might and main. He is only eighteen 
—King Olaf took him on the Long Serpent against 
the advice of others—but now his turn has come 
to prove the wisdom of his king’s choice. No shots 
are more telling than those from Einar’s bow. 
Suddenly he spies Olaf’s most dangerous enemy. 

As Erik, the Earl, stands in a fairly safe position 
where he can direct the final attack, an arrow trem- 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 329 

bles in the mast just over his head. It is buried 
to the shaft in the wood. 

“A mighty shot!” he cries, startled. “Who sent 
that arrow?” 

Another dart sings through the air. It comes so 
close—the earl lifts his arm—and the arrow strikes 
between the uplifted arm and his side. The point 
penetrates straight through a board. 

“Come,” calls Erik, the Earl, to his crack 
marksman, “take that tall fellow standing at 
the stern.” 

The marksman, who is a Finn, shoots. Is there 
something of the Finnish magic in that shot? Or 
do the Norse gods direct that dart in their last 
effort against Olaf the champion of Christ? 

As Einar is again stretching his bow, the weapon 
falls in two parts. The Finn’s arrow met it square¬ 
ly and neatly parted it in two. 

“What broke?” calls King Olaf from the thick 
of the fight. 

“Norway—from thy hand, oh, King!” 5 cries the 
lad as he gazes at his shattered weapon, symbol of 
his broken hopes. 

“It is not so bad as that!” calls the king, tossing 
him his own bow. “Try mine!” 

Einar caught it and his sinewy young arm 
strained with the effort as he drew it back. The 
bow went beyond the arrow’s head. 

“Too weak—too weak is my Lord’s bow!” he 


330 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


cries, and he grasps sword and shield to make a last 
standing fight for the king. 

Exposed on the deck’s highest point stands King 
Olaf like a lion at bay. Now he shoots with his 
bow, now he casts a javelin and always two arrows 
or spears at a time. And around him his dwin¬ 
dling band of faithful retainers swing their swords 
with superhuman strokes in this life-or-death 
struggle. 

“Your swords?” shouts the king. “What is the 
matter with your swords, my men?” 

He notices that in spite of their powerful strokes, 
the swords themselves do not “bite” as is their 
wont. 

“Our swords are worn out, oh, King!” answers 
Wolf the Red. 

“We have more swords!” calls Olaf cheeringly, 
and disappears for a moment in the fore-cabin. 
He is back in a second; he has brought a new sup¬ 
ply from the chest under the High Seat and these 
he distributes among his men. And one who saw 
that brave hand reach into the chest, saw blood 
running down beneath the coat of mail; but no 
one to this day knows where the king was wounded. 

Fore and aft, the sides of the Long Serpent were 
unusually high. The middle of the ship was more 
open to attack, here the men fell thickest and here 
Earl Erik resolved to go on board. 

Fifteen men of the enemy stand on the royal ves- 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 331 


sel—and then comes the earl himself. A blot in¬ 
deed on Norway’s honor. Every man of the fif¬ 
teen is killed or wounded and Earl Erik must re¬ 
treat to the Beard . 

More men fall on the Long Serpent, and Earl 
Erik ventures another try. Never was there such 
desperate fighting in all the Far North. From 
bow to stern the last remnants of Olaf’s wonder- 
crew rushed to force Erik’s retreat. 

The bow stands undefended. And the stern. 

In a few minutes other attacking parties, Danes, 
Swedes, are swarming in at both ends. 

Olaf’s guardian angel has hidden her face. Per¬ 
haps she is weeping. A glint of white and gold! 
The hum of the Valkyries—the first war-maidens 
—is in the air. Do they chant Odin’s triumph- 
song? . . . Hark! the terrible rattle of Tor’s 

chariot. All the forces of the heathen world as¬ 
sembled by Queen Sigrid are about to overwhelm 
her victim. 

“He said I was heathen as a dog, but my foot 
shall be upon his neck!” 

Does Olaf remember his rash words or realize 
the humiliation in store for him? 

The handful of men who can still move have 
clustered around their beloved king. The enemies’ 
ships heave and crunch against the dismantled 
Long Serpent . The eager warriors clamber over 
the sides. 


332 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


Olaf has lost; the flower of Norway’s youth lies 
bleeding on the deck or heavily-armor-laden at the 
bottom of the Baltic Sea. Little cutters have been 
cruising around, the occupants despatching those 
who still struggle in the water, turning the ocean 
crimson with their life’s blood. But the men in the 
cutters will not kill King Olaf, for Olaf shall be 
taken alive, the royal prisoner for a queen! 

A splendid figure stands at the Long Serpent’s 
edge. A golden shield glitters on his arm, a short 
scarlet cloak is thrown over his coat of mail and 
his helmet glistens in the rays of the setting sun. 
The figure leaps, holding his shield under him as a 
defense against the spear-points. He falls into the 
sea, but the shield hinders him from sinking and 
he is surrounded by the small cutters. 

“Olaf!” shriek the victors joyfully, as they drag 
at the god-like figure and finally secure him fast. 
Up to the conqueror, Earl Erik, they bring their 
prize. “Queen Sigrid’s booty—the king himself I” 
they announce. 

But Erik shakes his head. 

“I know you, Kolbiorn,” said he to the silent 
prisoner. “And I know that you resemble your 
king not only in appearance but in valor. You 
have made a good fight and I give my word that 
you return unharmed to Norway.’’ 

Another prisoner, a pale and haggard youth, re¬ 
ceives the same promise when they carry him ex- 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 333 

hausted to the earl. It is Einar of the broken 
bow. 6 

But Olaf had leaped at the same time Kolbiorn 
did, but from the other side, and, holding his shield 
over him, sunk unseen into the deep. 

Meanwhile Sigvald, the wily Jom Viking, lies 
quietly in the harbor, waiting. A cry comes on the 
wind. ... It swells over the din of battle 
which seems to lull away. ... It is the wild 
cry of triumph! Sigvald recognizes it and bids 
his ships sail out to greet the conqueror, Earl Erik, 
who stands on the high deck of the Long Serpent, 
his well-won prize. 

One ship, however, does not follow, Astrid’s 
ship. Its sails flutter in the wind but it turns its 
course away from the victors, back toward Vend- 
land. The gentle gray-eyed lady trembles as she 
hears the victorious cries. She hides her face in 
her hands. Still comes the shouting, faint on the 
wind. She fears the worse; Olaf the friend of her 
youth, her hero-king, has fallen. Oh, why were 
her well-meant words in vain! 

But there may be another reason why Astrid’s 
boat skims so boldly over the waves and her men 
so eagerly ply their oars. Some say that Olaf freed 
himself from his armor, swam under water from 
the tumult, and that Astrid took him on board her 
ship. 

Perhaps she brought him far from the victors 


334 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


quarreling over their spoils, to Vendland, the land 
of his first love, where she nursed the wounded 
warrior back to health. 

Or perhaps the fair head found rest in Astrid’s 
tender embrace and the hero died in her arms. 

At any rate, the revenge of Sigrid is incomplete. 
That haughty foot is never placed on Olaf’s neck. 
No cowering Christian king is dragged into her 
presence, however she may call upon her heathen 
gods and curse her triumphant husband. 

In Trondhjem, a sad-eyed queen 7 sits in her 
tower by the sea. Gray are the clouds that gather 
over tumultuous waters and gray are her thoughts 
as she gropes among them for some ray of hope 
to lighten her grief. Strain your eyes, Queen Tyra, 
as you look out over the sea. Look and look again 
through the gathering mist. To-day, and to-mor¬ 
row, and the next day; next week, next month, 
next year! Your hair may turn white as the snow, 
you may offer twenty times your Vendland dower, 
but your greatest treasure, your Olaf, you will 
never see again. 


Hliis tale ends The Saga of Olaf Trygvason, bringing the 
story of the princes of Frey down to the year 1000, roughly 
speaking, the end of the Viking Age. The remaining part of 
Snorra’s Heimskringla (more than two-thirds) deals with other 
princes of Frey down to Snorra’s own time. The spirit of the 
old Viking inspires a line of crusaders who fare forth as Olaf 
did, champions of the new faith, harvesting honor and glory 



STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 335 


f 

for Norway. Even Earl Erik who returns to power in Trond- 
hjem after Olaf’s fall, becomes 3 Christian and rules his people 
well. 

2 “Red and afraid” in the original Icelandic (and Norwegian) 
is a pun which this incident has made famous in the Far 
North. 

3 Erik’s brave fighting will be remembered from The Vows of 
the Jom Vikings. 

4 This is practically an exact translation of one of the frag¬ 
ments of skaldic verse which Snorra in the same manner inter¬ 
polates in his narrative. 

6 The saga deliberately suggests that it was black magic that 
directed the shot which “broke Norway” from Olaf’s hands. 
The fact that a Finn was the sender of the arrow confirms the 
idea, in Snorra’s eyes. 

6 Later, Einar is the hero of many another tale of prowess 
in the saga lore of the Far North. Earl Erik’s generosity in 
pardoning him reminds us of how he previously pardoned the 
Jom Vikings (in The Vows of the Jom Vikings ). That Olaf’s 
conqueror is the noble Erik makes the bitterness of that defeat 
a little less bitter. Of all Olaf’s opponents, Erik has the most 
right to seek his downfall, for he has his father’s death to 
avenge. This is the final scene in a drama that has been going 
on involving the members of two families for generations. 
Snorra’s Heimskringla deals with generations of people rather 
than people. Erik’s father Haakon and his grandfather Sigurd 
were constantly involved with Olaf’s family, “the sons of Frey,” 
who are of course the heroes of Snorra’s tale. And Snorra 
traces the different characteristics of the individuals carefully, 
showing how the same traits appear in father, son and grandson. 

7 Queen Tyra is said to have died of grief. One account, 
not Snorra’s, states that she herself went with Olaf on the 
cruise of the Long Serpent and was brought a prisoner to Earl 


336 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


Erik after the famous battle which Olaf lost. She is said to 
have refused food steadily (as she previously did when the 
bride of Burislaf) eating only an apple each day until she 
pined away and died. 

But long after Tyra’s death, the people in Norway awaited 
Olaf’s return. Many reports were current about him. Some 
said he had been seen in Jerusalem living as a pious hermit. 
Norway’s famous poet Bjornson describes the return of the 
part of the fleet that sailed out to sea in a poem which freely 
translated, runs like this: 

THE FATE OF KING OLAF 

“Broad sails skim o’er the northern seas, 

High on the deck in the morning breeze 

Erling of Sola, the Viking strong, 

Over toward Denmark gazes long— 

‘Is Olaf, the King, not coming?’ 

“Fifty and six great serpents lay 

With folded wings in a sheltering bay; 

The sun-burnt crew toward Denmark gaze. 

No royal ship cleaves the gathering haze— 

‘Is Olaf, the King, not coming?’ 

“Another dawn and a day pass by; 

No sign of that mast against the sky; 

Their doubts find voice in the moaning tide: 

‘Where is our Wonder-Ship, our pride; 

Is Olaf, the King, not coming?’ 

“Still, so still, stand the silent men; 

Up from the sea comes the sound again ; 

Each sailor listens with whitened lip: 

‘Lost is your pride, your Wonder-Ship, 

And Olaf, the King, is fallen!’ 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 337 


“And since, through many a hundred year, 

Ships of the North are wont to hear 
On moonlight nights, from the waves, high-tossed, 
The saga-song of a fair ship lost— 

Of Olaf, a hero—fallen.” 



XVIII 

AFTER WORD 

T"\ID you hear the singer? 

Pray draw closer, friend. 

It is indeed a great hall, and the night is cold 
outside. 

Close the door.See! We crossed 

seven centuries on the threshold. 

The firelight sends forth a cheery welcome and 
bids us come nearer. It glints on the shield and 
weapons along the walls until they seem molded of 
living flame; it brings out the golden tints in the 
tapestries. It shows us many tables covered with 
fine linen and the remains of a feast. Servants 
are passing among the guests with finger-bowls and 
napkins. Too bad we missed that part of the en¬ 
tertainment! 

But who sits there on the High Seat, the chair 
with the carved pillars? It must be the great King 
Haakon. 

At his right sit his highest church dignitaries. 

Over the chair to his left a costly fur robe is 
thrown and there sits Margaret, his lovely queen. 
Near by are her handmaidens and the abbesses. 
The place is thronged with courtiers, guests, re¬ 
tainers, lackeys and serving men, and there is a 
buzz of conversation. 


338 



STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 339 


Hark! A clear chord of music ripples on the 
air; the singer has touched his harp. All are silent 
for Snorra, the skald from Iceland, is about to 
entertain the company. 

Let us draw near. 

To the accompaniment of chords, strange and 
stirring, soft and sweet, we glide back through the 
ages to the dim beginnings of time. He is de¬ 
scribing the advance of a horde of people out of 
the mysterious East, across the plains of Scythia to 
find a home in the Northland. The tale is tinged 
with fable; gods and giants mingled with mortals 
who sometimes themselves seem more than mortal, 
but every word is another filament to the fairy web 
of romance he is weaving. 

Now the tale is less visionary. He is singing of 
the sons of Frey,—real men who are building 
kingdoms and real women who inspire or hinder 
them in their work—Harald of the Fair Hair, 
the noble Gyda, King Haakon the Good, Gunhild, 
the Witch-Queen. 

The guests are enthralled; the great King Haa¬ 
kon, holding a goblet, forgets to drink. Snorra is 
conjuring up his own forefathers whose proud and 
ancient name he bears. 

The singer strikes a martial tone; there is a 
vision of ships in the air, two glistening lines of 
dragon-prowed battle-ships. See, they are closing 


340 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


in on one another. Darkness falls over them; Tor’s 
chariot rumbles through the air—the Jom Vikings 
have been defeated. Their heads are to be cut 
off! 

A crash! Everybody starts. What was it, a fall¬ 
ing head? No, only the logs in the mighty fire¬ 
place. The dying embers leap again to life casting 
a rosy glow on the face of the queen who is listen¬ 
ing, entranced, horrified. Such a relief! The gen¬ 
erous-hearted Earl Erik is pardoning the pris¬ 
oners. 

The pageant passes. More and more forms are 
conjured forth by the singer until the great hall 
is peopled with shapes,—gigantic shadows cluster¬ 
ing around us in the gloom. 

A powerful earl meets a terrible death in a cave. 
There is a shriek; the ladies involuntarily tremble. 
But it was only the wind without, blowing down 
an ice-bound valley. 

You and I have ourselves become a part of this 
medieval assembly. We follow with bated breath 
the wanderings of a persecuted princess as she 
flees from land to land. And we thrill with indig¬ 
nation at the treatment a haughty queen metes out 
to luckless suitors. 

The singer is as great a magician as Odin, and 
takes us as though on the latter’s magic ship, to the 
far corners of the world,—to golden Aasgaard, to 


STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 341 


Sweden’s sacred city Upsala, to the wall of Dane- 
virke, to England, Ireland, Normandy, Gardarika, 
across foggy seas to Iceland with new colonists— 
and even over the dark Atlantic to “Vinland the 
Good.” 

Now comes the best of all, the fascinating saga- 
song of King Olaf, the son of Trygva. We follow 
his footsteps from land to land and his vessels 
through many a sea. Fortune smiles on him; he 
represents all that is noble and good—and God. 

But the heathen gods have assembled themselves 
for one last effort against this prince of the line of 
Frey who has betrayed them, and Sigrid the 
Haughty, their incarnation, plans Olaf s ruin. A 
glorious defeat. And the honor of it falls to a 
brave enemy while Sigrid is cheated of her tri¬ 
umph when Olaf leaps into the sea. 

As the dark waters close over that fair head, it 
seems as though a greater darkness has settled over 
the listeners; the fire has crumbled to glowing 
ashes; only a few torches along the walls yield a 
smoky gleam. 

The embers themselves pale gradually, and wink 
fitfully like sleep-laden eyes. A wreath of smoke 
curls to the ceiling caressing the dragon-rafters. 

The carved throne, the king, the queen resting a 
fair cheek thoughtfully against her hand, the 
crowd of courtiers, all fade from view. 


342 STORIES OF THE VIKINGS 


A gust blows out the torches; the hall is black. 
Only the wind outside continues its melancholy 
wailing. 


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